A World of Crazy
by KLMeri
Summary: AU. Leonard is shipped to Fleet Heights where he learns that he is part of a legendary crew that could change the world—except everyone, including him, is certifiably insane.  K/S/M.  - COMPLETE
1. Prologue

**Title**: A World of Crazy

**Author**: klmeri

**Fandom**: Star Trek AOS

**Pairing**: pre-to-eventual Kirk/Spock/McCoy

**Disclaimer**: Not my characters, though their situation is a little less Star Trekkie…

**Summary**: AU. Leonard is shipped to Fleet Heights where he learns that he is part of a legendary crew that could change the world—except everyone (including him) is certifiably insane.

* * *

**Prologue**

Jocelyn shows up in the middle of Len's shift at the hospital, corners him between two gurneys and without a word shoves divorce papers into his hands. When he follows her dumbly to the parking lot with "Joce, I don't understand," his best friend Clay is in the passenger seat of her baby blue convertible (a contributing reason to Leonard's third shift every other day) and Jocelyn tells him, as she slides behind the wheel and out of his life, in a few simple words: "It's over. My lawyer will send you the details."

Just like that, he goes from the man known as Jocelyn's Husband back to Leonard McCoy. In the beginning, it's as if he has been cut adrift and doesn't remember how to swim. Len makes Jocelyn's favorite coffee for three consecutive days and comes home to a burnt crust in the pot which he silently cries over as he scraps it into the sink. Nights are the worst; the silence is loud to his ears (louder than the times she wouldn't talk to him for days when pissed). If he sleeps at all, it is to startle awake at the slam of a neighbor's door with his heart beating crazily _Joce? Joce?_

That they had no kids, some days Leonard feels lucky; others, he wishes he had more than just the box of her old clothes that had been destined for donation. But he doesn't, and he won't have more than the memory of the past five years of marriage and that one year of courtship. A short six years, suddenly, to a man only two years from the cusp of thirty.

Leonard ignores the sympathy in Chapel's eyes—she's been so sweet to him while he works through his last year of residency at St. John's—and declines the pity dinner invitations from other colleagues and friends. He tries to focus on work, on the mundane day-to-day living that carries him exhausted to an empty bed. The mail piles up by the door of the apartment because if it's not from Jocelyn (it never is), he drops it on the floor. The one exception is a packet addressed to Leonard H. McCoy and the return address is the town's most distinguished law firm. Barely three pages through the legal document (and the demands), Leonard breaks open a case of bourbon, pulling out a bottle, for the first time in five years.

He says, "To you, darlin', for all your hassling until I quit." He chokes on the burn of the initial slide of alcohol down his throat, chucks the shot glass at the wall, and drinks the rest straight from bottle to mouth. He coats his heartache steadily for the next three hours, until his sight blackens out and his last coherent thought is that, on the day she left him, Jocelyn was wearing the pink sweater he'd bought her quite whimsically during their honeymoon. (He was so happy back then; _they were_.)

Coming to consciousness and the urge to vomit, which he does repeatedly in the corner of the living room, Leonard waits a few hours, half-dozing on his back, before he cracks open the next bottle. It's a vicious cycle he lives in for the next two days, until his only other friend (the one who didn't betray him) Christine pounds on his door in the darkening afternoon hours; eventually the calls and knocking stops, only to return in the form of the complex's one security officer breaking into his apartment. (Len winces, drowned in despair and booze, at the echoing of footsteps and voices.) They find him curled on his side, dying in stage one of alcohol poisoning. He doesn't bother to respond to the fear in Chris's eyes, as she clutches his hand when he is rolled onto the gurney. Somewhere deep down, he thinks that she doesn't deserve to worry like this, but then again he's a man with a gaping hole for a heart and her worry makes him feel alive.

(Truthfully he's nothing at all, a shell of a man.)

This is his life, in the aftermath of trauma. This is his life as it falls apart, first in the hospital that fateful day and then finally in the hospital again, where—as he recovers from the second round of drugs to clean out his system—Leonard attempts to overdose himself. (He almost succeeds, if he hadn't been too tired to reconfigure the alarms.) This is his life, in the shambles of a medical career that suddenly means nothing. Leonard McCoy of no caring family, is a once-bright star turned empty black-hole. He is released, without a job and carrying a list of weekly psychiatric appointments calling his name.

Now, Leonard doesn't much care for another's opinion of what he should and should not feel. When he was a boy, he refused to talk to the grief counselor after his sole parent, David, went 'round the bend like the snap of a finger—though, in later years, Leonard recalls little tell-tale signs a child wouldn't have recognized—took Len to work one day and torched the small office building, killing three, himself and leaving an orphaned child and two traumatized co-workers. (There are still burn scars on the back of his left thigh.) Since then, Len has worked very hard to right the wrongs of his papa's final deed; Len goes into medical school in hopes of saving life, as if knowing what to do in a crisis could heal his heart-wound of being helpless back then.

He attends the first meeting, sitting silently in the face of a stranger's questions. On his exit, he tosses the card detailing his next appointment in the nearest trash bin and goes home to lock himself in his bedroom. For the second time, some local authority—the city police, this time—come across Len, not violently sick from drinking, but sitting in a dark room holding onto a woman's shirt and pants stuffed with the insides of a pillow. When he tells them to fuck off and leave him and his wife alone, Len skips jail and goes straight to the psych ward of St. John's for testing. He purposefully answers all the questions as crazily as he can—including feigning hourly bouts of catatonic behavior. The poor bastards look up his daddy's records, hem and haw, and eat up his winning performance with a spoon.

In record time, he is declared mentally ill and placed on a small shuttle bus to the big city of Atlanta. Len has only the charity of government and his meager assets (not going to alimony), which lands him at one of Atlanta's poorer rehabilitation facilities. (He doesn't care anymore.) It's an old mill transformed into a dismal place for people in downward spirals and no inclination to rise in the morning; the big lettering spells Fleet Heights with the "e" hanging sideways. If Len laughs at that, his escorts chalk it up to his newly acquired insanity.

This becomes his life; in particular, these first few steps into his new home during which he encounters a bright-eyed chattering kid named Jimmy, who is being held down to the dirty floor while he kicks his legs and declares the staff to be Klingon scum. (What's a Klingon? But Len doesn't much care.) As the tired native Georgian passes on his shuffle down the corridor, the kid looks up at Leonard McCoy and winks.

Turns out, while it will be some days before his official introduction to the good-looking (but obviously screwed-up) Jim, Leonard's roommate knows too much about this James T. Kirk; Spock (what the hell kind of name is that?) recites him a list of institution regulations, and subsequently Jim's defiance thereof, in a long midnight ramble while Leonard prays for Spock's meds to send the chatter-box into oblivion. Of course, Spock seems to know too much of everything—a condition, the dark-haired exotic fellow claims, due to his alien origins.

In the second day of his exile to the nut-house, McCoy gets a good look at Spock in daylight. He realizes (finally cares enough to realize) first that he is rooming with a strange cross between a Cherokee and an Asian; second, that Spock may be fucking delusional but he is also a genius of massive proportions. There are technological trinkets scattered around the other's bed and long jumbles of mathematical nonsense written along the wall. And currently, the man is building a tiny radio out of scraps, for all Len can tell. Spock is aloof this morning, which is a great contrast to last night, but Leonard has no desire to instigate another lecture so he just grunts awake and waits on an orderly to come get him.

McCoy slumps in a chair during his "introduction" to Fleet Heights via Dr. Puri, director and care-giver of poor souls extraordinaire. Fleet Heights, Len decides, is a Hell-hole of an institution in which the good state of Georgia tucks away a hundred or so of the non-criminally insane, be they clinically depressed, schizoid, or bat-shit crazy. McCoy grows bored of the director's bullshit, so he calls Dr. Puri "a mother-fucking son-of-a-bitch" which earns him a quick boot into the capable hands of one Christopher Pike—apparently the supervisor of Leonard's floor. Pike gives him warning, as Len is escorted back to his room.

"McCoy," Pike says, running a hand through the hair graying at the temples. "My advice to you is take your meds and keep your mouth shut." There is a strange half-smile on Pike's face. "Puri really is a son-of-a-bitch—and he can also demand more—punishable—treatment for your condition, should the mood strike him. Don't assume I'll help you, because I won't."

He mumbles _whatever, old man_ though those words stick with him throughout the rest of the day. As Leonard McCoy lies back on his tiny bed with military corners, he wonders if this new life of his can possibly make him forget his honey-blonde (ex-)wife of sharp tongue and long beautiful legs.

As it turns out, it can. The first inkling of potential is when Jim "Captain" Kirk plops down across from McCoy at lunch, steals the jello cubes off his tray and says "Having a good day, Bones?"


	2. Who Are These People?

**Who Are These People?**

* * *

It's hard to ignore James Tiberius Kirk, especially when the person is as persistent and surprisingly charming as "the Captain."

Jim introduces himself after the third (deliberate) interruption of McCoy's misery-fest, when Leonard can no longer tolerate the kid's leering grin and sneaky, touchy fingers. He snarls, breaking his silence, "Just fucking leave me alone!"

Kirk's grin widens like the birthday gift he was anticipating is better than what he asked for, and that annoys the Hell out of Len. McCoy snaps his mouth closed and stalks over to the little cafeteria window, shoving his plate full of (horribly prepared) food into the hands of a stoic staff member. Jim is two steps behind him the whole way back to his room, saying, "Bones. Hey, Bones, don't be mad!"

As he rounds on this brainless tag-along of a child, a quietly simmering pocket of anger bursts to the surface. "And why the Hell not? Do you think I've enjoyed listening to you and Spock during your _sleepovers_? For Christ's sake, kid, can't you two fuck in the broom closet? This isn't a college dorm. It's a fucking insane asylum, you knitwit!" His words are bitter-tasting in his mouth.

Kirk flinches not once under the acid of McCoy's vitrol. When Len finally runs out of steam, Jim merely says with that perky expression, "Name's Jim, but you can call me Captain."

_Tell me something I haven't heard._ Leonard has tried his darnedest to ignore the other residents of Fleet Heights, preferring to spend time chewing over Jocelyn's last words and how the fucking Hell everything went to shit so fast. Unfortunately, blocking out this band of cuckoos is about as easy as ignoring the wail of an ambulance siren. They get in his face (there's a curly-haired Russian that blinks big eyes at him and asks innocent prying questions in a child's voice), or just whisper and point too damned loudly. Len's the new guy and he's sure everyone wants to know how to brand him.

Leonard doesn't give Jim what he's shooting for. Instead, "Congratulations, dumbass. You're Captain of the Crazies. Must be a real _special _win for you."

Jim laughs. He actually laughs. Does nothing offend this airhead?

"Oh, Bones. You're honest. I like that. I _need _that."

_Shit._ If the kid's intense blue eyes are anything to go by, he really _does _need it and Jim's about to show McCoy just how badly too.

Len turns his back. "Do us both a favor and go away. Whatever it is you're selling, I'm not buying. In fact, I'm fucking bought-out. Understand?"

Kirk presses up against his back; Len automatically stiffens. "It's okay, Bones. We're all messed up. Why else would we be here?"

Damn, he talks pretty sane for an insane guy. McCoy's voice may be a little more rough than usual but he bites out the next words. "Why are you touching me, Jim? We're strangers." And either you're a slut, got dependency issues, or both. Probably both. (Nothing is rosy to Len anymore; it's all dull dirty grey, like grit.)

The Captain backs off, then, but he doesn't leave McCoy alone. No, in fact, he gets right into Leonard's face. "'Cause we aren't strangers, Bones."

"Why do you keep calling me that?" Why Bones? McCoy has pushed past pissiness into curiosity.

The boy's eyes are cornflower blue. Jim smiles. "All you've got left is your bones, right? I've been waiting for you for a long time."

Leonard denies, "I'm not your Bones, Jim. My name is Leonard McCoy. Not—_Bones_," he stresses. He'll never admit how close Jim has come to the truth of Leonard's situation.

Suddenly, Kirk goes still like a rabbit. McCoy turns his head and sees Pike coming around the corner of the corridor. Jim steps back, obviously not up for meeting Pike. But before he strolls away, whistling a strange tune, Jim brushes their shoulders together and whispers in Len's ear, "But you could be… See you later, Bones."

* * *

The next time Jim wants to talk to him—seduce him, whatever—it's in the company of a grinning Japanese called Sulu. Well, Hikaru Sulu to be precise, but for some reason everyone on the floor calls him just Sulu. (Last names must be very popular, here, in the crazy-house.)

He hears that exasperating call of "Bones" and sees Jim trading silverware with Sulu. Jim waves him over and, well, McCoy was bored out of his mind two hours before lunch so he accepts the invitation and cautiously takes a seat across from the two.

Jim squints at him, his mouth stretched in that crazy _we've-always-been-buddies_ mega-watt smile. "Hey, whatcha doing?" he wants to know.

Len answers slowly, as if talking to an idiot (which he probably is). "It's lunch-time, kid. That means we show up for lunch."

Sulu snickers as he rearranges his silverware. Why are there four butter knives?

Jim catches Leonard's eyebrow-raised glance. "Oh, Sulu here is just cleaning his knife collection."

Sulu says to Len, "I could let you touch one if you want, but you gotta be careful not to cut yourself."

Somehow, this is the first hilarious thing he's heard since his divorce. Leonard starts laughing so hard his eyes run. Sulu's happy expression drops into something more dangerous, but Len can't stop himself; the laughter, it's so damned good to laugh. He manages to choke out, "Sorry, man. I just—what do you think I'm gonna do with a _butter knife_?"

"They're katanas," Sulu snaps back.

Oh. Oh, damn. Guess he should have known. "A'right." Leonard forgoes raising his hands in a gesture of defeat, and thankfully, it doesn't seem needed. Sulu's mood switches back to happy so quickly that Leonard checks him off as bipolar.

Jim doesn't seem disturbed at all by the switch, so it must be safe to assume Leonard is experiencing "normal" behavior for Sulu. "Be right back, Bones. The gang needs to meet you."

_Crap._ Leonard attempts to get up and skedaddle as soon as Jim starts working his way around the room slapping shoulders and gathering a band of misfits, but Sulu grabs his wrist pulls him back into his seat. "Wait," Sulu says. It's an order, and the strength in the small man's grip is surprisingly like iron.

McCoy is calling himself seven kinds of a fool by the time Jim comes back with a rag-tag group behind him. He can't even protest before Jim is talking, "Bones, this is the crew. Crew, this is Bones."

There is a smattering of _hello_'s, one_ so? _and a final _hey there, baby!_ Len's lip curls at that last one, but Jim is moving along so fast with the introductions, there's no time for anything but sharp nods and short, curt greetings.

It's some crew the Captain has; Jim explains with a jolliness that borders on bizarre each member's name, rank and station. Unfortunately, their stations are their psychological ailments. Montgomery Scott ("I'm Scotty, and don't forget Keenser, Captain!") is Chief Engineer with a imaginary friend named Keenser that's followed him all his thirty-one years. (_Damned sad_, Len thinks.) Spock—standing so tall and rigid as Jim grins and winks at him—is Jim's First Officer (and a whole lot else, McCoy knows) and from the planet Vulcan; he got stuck in here after an incident involving a scalpel and his ears. Len shudders at the mention of a scalpel, but he's also curious because he hasn't noticed Spock's ears before now. (He'll deny wanting a good look at 'em.)

Then there's Sulu who was a pilot and is still the pilot of Jim's ship; Jim confirms McCoy's diagnosis. Chekov turns out to be the Russian baby-face with the rank of Navigator. That he's also a pathological liar becomes obvious after a few days of listening to Pavel spin long-winded tales of Russia's greatness or insist how much of genius he is like Spock, can sword-fight like Sulu, and see Keenser too. The beautiful woman named Uhura (later she whispers her first name is Nyota—when Jim's back is turned) is Head of Communications and she proves so by greeting Len in ten different languages. Jim says Uhura gets a little too depressed sometimes, so it's the crew's job to keep her spirits up because crewmembers look out for one another. Len barely acknowledges the woman because he took one look at her long shapely legs and squeezed his eyes shut. (_Just like Joce._)

When Jim finishes, McCoy looks him dead in the eye and asks, "And what's your woe, Captain?"

Jim's smile never falters but his eyes deepen to dark blue like a maelstrom. "Woes, Bones." He turns to his crew. "What do you guys think? What's my problem?"

There's slew of strange (and just plain stupid) responses but Len watches Spock state "Megalomania, Captain" like it's a fact and catches Uhura's mouthed "eating disorder." _Huh. _When Jim watches Len's face for a verdict, McCoy decides not to pull his punches.

"Good old fucking hallucinations, Jim." For some reason, that makes the kid grin like a hyena.

McCoy waits. He's not disappointed when the Engineer—Scotty, he'll have to remember that—says Keenser wants to know why Leonard McCoy is the newest patient at Fleet Heights.

Len leans back in his chair and, for the first time in a couple of months, feels a grin on his face. "Why," he accentuates his Southern drawl, "I'm here 'cause I want to be here."

Jim's gaze is sharp. "Really, Bones?"

"Sure, Jim. I'm not really crazy, I'm just playing crazy because being sane sucks too damned bad."

There are one or two snorts from the crew. Sulu says, "Sure, it's all an act. Don't worry, we believe you." Most of them trade knowing glances that Len can accept. But Jim is silent and watching Leonard like he sees something strange, and Spock is watching Jim.

Finally, Leonard has to break that unnerving concentration. He does so the only way he can think of, by shooting a question directly at him. "So if I'm to join your crew, _Captain_, what's my rank?"

Jim gives him a once-over. "Don't know, Bones. What do you do?"

Leonard swallows, his throat unexplainably dry. He gives the same answer that he has for many years previous (even if it's no longer true). "I'm a doctor," he says in all seriousness.

For some reason, that cements Jim's fantasy of Bones. "Chief Medical Officer," the Captain announces with pride to the rest of his crew. Then turning back to the doctor, "Welcome aboard, Leonard McCoy."

There's a chorus of _welcome aboard!_'s, some given with snappy salutes. Leonard folds his arms and scowls, because he knows that he's just screwed up big-time. If Leonard had accepted that he was up shit-creek without a paddle… well, now he's got company.

And he'd bet his eye-teeth that none of these fools can swim.


	3. The Man of Adventure

**Okay, I don't mean to scare off my readers by writing an AU. In the one-shot before this fic, I was able to accomplish a goal that I had been contemplating for a long, long time. That convinced me of one simple thing: if it makes me happy to write it, and my brain is on board, then I should. This is me expanding my horizons and tackling the AU genre—because it's been on my mind for some time. Now, where this is set, in the "crazy house" so to speak, I hope alerts my regular readers that this fic is not serious in any shape or form. These people are loopy, and we all know that Jim and his crew like to have adventures wherever they may be. So, I'll tell you that as far as plot is concerned… no idea whatsoever. Expect craziness. Expect K/S/M. That's about all I can tell you at this point!**

**That said, make sure you've read the previous part—it's the introduction to our crew!**

* * *

**The Man of Adventure**

* * *

Leonard is having one of his bad days. Okay, so maybe none of his days are good days, per say, but there are moments when he is actually cordial to other people (for a span of thirty seconds). But today…

Definitely not one of them.

It starts with Len waking up to the sound of BANG-BANG-BANG. It's Spock, of course, working on his latest gadget. It took the man 75.490643 hours (Spock informs Leonard, serious-faced) to complete the communicator that Kirk insisted his crew needed for emergency contact. Now—wait. _Vulcan_, Len corrects. Jesus, why does Len have to think of him that way? Oh right, Spock has an "episode" if he's treated like a Human—definitely not a repeat adventure the doctor wants to see. And even stranger, Spock seems to enjoy Leonard's insults so long as McCoy makes reference to his Vulcan-ness.

Initially McCoy was at a loss for thinking of adjectives and nouns that would fit the bill ('cause what is a Vulcan anyway?). He woke up one morning with a note stuck to his forehead. It read (in terrible chicken-scratch)…

_- green blood_

_- ears with points_

_- super strength_

_- super intelligence _(McCoy smacked his head at this one.)

_- touch telepathy_

_- logic and controlled emotional response_

Of course, Leonard had to sit up to bitch at Spock about creeping up on him in the middle of the night and touching his person, but then Len's eye caught a flash of the scribbling on the wall. After comparing the two, it was obvious that this wasn't Spock's handwriting—which was rather neat (for a genius). It only took another five seconds of further contemplation to delineate the perpetrator.

Jim.

Who the fuck else?

So Leonard just idled there, cross-legged on his bed and frowning over the list of Vulcan characteristics he ought to know. Later, in the cafeteria as Spock so solicitously informed McCoy that his eating habits were unsatisfactory, out popped "Mind your own damn business, you pointy-eared hobgoblin!" Spock blinked in surprise (and McCoy was sure he had startled his own self too).

Then Spock answered, "Very well, Doctor." He paused, added, "Your insult was most illogical." But there was a strange little gleam in Spock's eye thereafter. McCoy would never admit it, but he has always enjoyed the thrill of creative name-calling.

It wasn't until later that afternoon that Leonard McCoy realized Spock had called him "Doctor" with an ease of familiarity. And it wasn't until two days later that McCoy accepted the fact being the Doctor had soothed something broken inside him.

But today is not good, and Spock is making a racket of noise when it's too early for thought. "Goddamn it, you inhuman computer! Stop that!"

There's a minute pause between _bang_s but Spock obviously decides in favor of ignoring McCoy's bitching. (As usual.) Len rolls off the edge of the bed and stuffs his feet into a pair of slippers. (They don't get decent shoes in this place, and especially not with laces.) He makes sure to slam the door on his way out. The sound rings down the empty corridor. McCoy shoves his hands into his robe, head bowed, and walks as far as he possibly can, just to get away from Spock before he goes from being labeled as insane to criminally insane—and tried for murder.

As Len rounds a corner, he is speculating on whether or not he could claim that, in his defense, Spock wasn't even Human and get people to believe that he believes that.

"Bones!"

Oh Hell. Why is Kirk even up at this ungodly hour?

"Go away, kid."

Jim ignores his request (just like Spock) and bounces right up to his side. "I'm heading out on a secret mission. The Captain needs backup. You should come along."

He does that sometimes—referring to himself in third person. Spock claims that it's part of Jim's delusion of grandeur. Len can believe it.

"I'm a doctor, Jim, not a spy."

There's a dimple on Jim's left cheek when he grins. For some reason, it's enticing to Leonard and he'll be damned if he can explain why. McCoy won't touch the kid, though, because he sees that blond hair and the whimper _Jocelyn _creeps up his throat. (Jim seems to think Len's hands-off policy is a personal challenge for Captain Kirk to overcome.)

Leonard takes a random sharp right turn, but Jim is tagging along like he's on a leash. Finally, with the fellow practically breathing down his neck, Len halts, puts his hand on Jim's chest and gives him a mighty push backwards. Rather than stumbling (and possibly falling on his ass, which Len was hoping for), Jim has Leonard's hand in both of his own and drags the doctor forward into the Captain's personal space.

"Damn it, Jim! Can't you just leave me the Hell alone!"

"Why would I do that?"

"Because I don't _want_ you," he spits. "I've got a wife, okay?"

The pupils of Jim's eyes dilate and his nostrils flare in some sort of oddly repressed rage. "Yeah, Bones? And what's she doing right now, while you eat shit and watch Scotty try to feed an invisible Keenser? Fucking the neighbor?"

There's bile rising in Bones' throat. He suddenly sees Joce in bed with Clay and he wants to puke. Jim must understand that he struck a painfully raw nerve, because Leonard is being pressed against the kid's chest and getting his hair stroked like a child.

He doesn't break away immediately and, for an unknown reason, lets his head drop onto Jim's shoulder. They stand like that for a good few minutes. When Len comes back to his senses, he goes stiff. Jim drops his petting hands. Neither says a word, but Jim has a look in his eyes that makes Leonard's heart pick up speed.

It's not pity, it's…

Jim is reaching for him, with words like "I'm sorry, Bon—" and it's all wrong—

"Captain!"

The moment is broken. As Jim spins on his heel and snaps "_What?" _Leonard is taking one step back, then another. There's a tremor in his hands that won't stop, so he clasps them tightly together behind his back.

Chekov and Sulu stop a couple of feet away from their incensed Captain. The Russian's eyes are wide with apprehension and Sulu keeps looking between Jim and Leonard with a thoughtful expression.

"Sorry for the interruption, Captain. When you weren't at the designated meeting area, we commenced a search for you." Sulu adds, "It's 0800, Sir."

Jim's shoulders are relaxing, and he shifts on his feet to jut a hip with innate cockiness. Leonard doesn't need to see his face to know that the man is grinning like a madman. (Fact is, Jim is a madman.)

"A minor delay in plans, gentleman," the Captain announces. "Doctor McCoy will be joining the mission to the surface."

"Oooo…" Chekov looks excited, and Len's stomach does a sudden flop.

Before he can protest, Sulu and Chekov are on either side of him and babbling "Doctor McCoy! We need you!" "What if the Captain gets injured?" "What if we are captured by Klingons!"

"No, no and NO!" When he attempts to leave, Jim corners him from the front.

"C'mon, Bones. We really do need you!"

"What the fuck, Jim? I know you can't be this insane! We're in an institution—"

"—Bones—"

"—on fucking planet EARTH!"

The Captain goes hard-eyed; that's when Len knows he has said one word too many. Kirk steps up to him (all softness and sympathy from minutes before vanished) and says in the most authoritarian voice Len has ever heard in his life, "Doctor McCoy, you believe as you see fit but when it comes to my crew, I won't tolerate heresy. Do we understand each other?"

McCoy frowns.

"_McCoy!_ Either you're with us or you're not!"

Leonard feels like the kid spoiling the game of make-believe on the playground. And damn it, he shouldn't feel that way! They're all adults, grown men with serious illnesses and—

Jim's blue eyes are intent on him, like back in the cafeteria that day. Leonard swallows, makes a choice. He's a bastard and he knows it; but these people are just as miserable as he is. If they can only survive harsh reality by living in a fantasy, then who he is to judge? Who is Leonard McCoy, this bitter man who had his rose-tinted glasses smashed and now can't cope?

"A'right, Captain," he says slowly. "I'm sorry. Mission's on."

The smile that lights Jim's face is different then usual—it seems… genuine. Such a simple gesture that coats the painfully stark walls of Len's heart. He shakes the weird feeling off.

"Excellent. Sulu! You have our weapons?"

Weapons? Oh shit. "Jim—"

"Don't worry, Bones. I understand. Hippocratic oath and all that. We'll watch out for you."

Shit, that's not what he meant. But Jim isn't paying any attention to Leonard because the upcoming mission—what the Hell can they possibly do?—has all of the Captain's focus.

As they march back the way they came—and then past it and towards the stairs, Leonard catches Chekov's ear. "Where are we going, son?"

"Down to the surface, Doctor!"

Leonard suppresses his snarky reply (barely). "I'm new to this, Pavel. Explain it to me." The use of Chekov's first name makes the navigator sidle closer to McCoy with glee.

"Well, Doctor, I shall try. You see, we are on t'ship, Sir, and below us is the planet." They're descending slowly down a set of stairs, so the first level must be the planet. Leonard sighs to himself. "We are running wery low on supplies, so the Captain has decided to meet with the planet's people to negotiate a deal."

Oh Lord in Heaven. Whoever Jim's contact on the "planet" is, Leonard has a bad feeling that this mission won't go so well.

"Doctor?"

Leonard grunts as they file outside the exit to the stairwell and Jim pokes his head around the corner to look for angry natives.

"Doctor, we can get you supplies for Sickbay too."

His eyebrow shoots up. Medical supplies? Chekov doesn't seem to be kidding. As Jim says to the three officers, "Coast clear, arm yourselves!" and Sulu and Chekov pull out what appears to be forks taped to the end of toilet paper rolls from their robe pockets, Leonard decides that he might as well go along with the plan and acquire what supplies he can.

After all, Doctor McCoy has no doubt he's going to need them in the near future.


	4. Never What It Seems

**Never What It Seems**

* * *

Leonard is cleaning the cut on his cheek, very glad to be alone. He had guessed that Jim had the ability to land in a mess of trouble and little enough sense to not drag others into it but, somehow, having this characteristic of the Captain's confirmed is depressing. Not that it takes a lot to depress him these days.

There's a burly jackass of an orderly named Giotto on the first floor. Unfortunately, Jim is stupid enough to deal with the man, even though nobody else seems to want to get within three feet of Giotto. Leonard actually had hopes that the four of them were going to be okay, that is until Jim took the bag of "supplies," handed it off to Sulu and started demanding "stuff for Bones, 'cause he's a doctor."

Giotto, while probably willing to provide cigarettes and chocolate bars to a bunch of nut-jobs, isn't dumb enough to get caught stealing medical equipment. So he said no, Jim didn't like that answer, and things escalated out of control. Leonard had just enough time to slide between Jim and the on-coming fist (because really, what kind of bastard hits a mentally incompetent patient, even if he's irritating as Hell?) and there was less of a crack of bone—thank God—and more sharp pain in his cheek. (Turns out Giotto wears a ring on his punching hand.) After that, things were a little blurry—or rather, Jim was blur of a crazy whirlwind. The kid knows how to fight dirty, he'll give Kirk that much. Chekov hauled the doctor to his feet, while Sulu stabbed Giotto in the thigh with his fork-weapon and attempted to subdue his Captain.

It was a real grade-A shit-fight, and they're all gonna get hung by Sheriff Puri for their sins, no doubt.

Leonard finally snapped "Jim!" and said "C'mon!" when the Captain, chest heaving and as maniac as Len's ever seen, replied uncertainly "Bones?" They, all four, stumbled out of the second floor stairwell and straight into Pike.

The supervisor took one look at Jim's ripped pajamas, Len's bleeding face, and the blinking Sulu and Chekov before ordering them, "Return to your rooms immediately."

He detained Jim, though, and Len won't admit to attempting to hang around or saying "It's not his fault, sir."

Pike just stared without blinking (how unnerving), with a firm grip on Kirk's arm. Then he told Len, "Go clean off your face, McCoy. And let me do my job."

And Len won't admit to giving in because Jim said, with that grin of his, "It's okay, Bones."

Leonard is snapped out of his mulling of this morning's catastrophe by a sharp rap on his door. (Doors here are never fully closed, even at night, and they have no locks.) Before he can snarl at the intruder to back the Hell off, Uhura slinks in and is sitting next to him without so much as a by-your-leave. Her lovely sharp eyes are assessing the damage to his face (and probably his good looks).

He grimaces and asks, "Well? Do I pass?" As much as Len would love to tell this woman to keep her nose out of his business—and keep her distance too—he's still a Southern gentleman at heart. That's the last thing his mama asked of him, as she lay dying of cancer in the hospital. He wasn't but seven years old and he still hasn't forgotten that promise. (Though sometimes it's hard to remember why he should keep it—the memory of her face is long-faded.)

"Poor Lenny," she says and takes the wet towel from him. He flinches, not because she is patting the wound too hard, but because she is leaning into his personal space. What does this crazy woman want? If Len thought that swearing off women would do some good, he'd shout it from the fucking rooftop. But he can't, 'cause Joce is still on his mind these days and if she were to walk through that door, he'd probably fall to his knees and beg her to take him back. (He's pathetic, he knows this.)

Leonard gently pulls the towel from her and tells Uhura, as softly as he can, "Don't do that, darlin'. I'm a grown man, and I can take care of myself. Promise."

Her next words are strange. "Are you depressed?"

Len blinks. He recalls Jim's babbling and feels he has to clarify a few things. "Hon, I'm fine."

"Oh." Why are her eyes slit like that?

After a brief silence, in which Leonard feels entirely uncomfortable, he breaks it with "Are you depressed, Uhura?"

"Sure," she shrugs.

She doesn't look or act like it; Leonard would know.

"Okay," he agrees. Better not to tangle with this one. She's off—and it's starting to make the hairs on the back of his neck tingle.

"Are you calling me a liar, Leonard?"

"No—"

"Did someone talk to you about me? Who?" Oh Lord, she's getting worked up. Leonard's body coils in anticipation. Uhura's eyes are lit now; they burn. "_Who was it?_ The Captain, right?"

"Look, Nyota," he tries using her first name.

She jumps up from the bed and starts pacing. "I bet the whole crew talks about me! I bet they—they're—" She doesn't seem to know what she wants to accuse her floor-mates of, and when Leonard notices her nails (why is she allowed to keep them so long?) start to dig into her palms, he eases from the bed with his hands out.

"C'mere, Nyota."

"No!"

"C'mon, come right over here, and I'll tell you what they're saying about you."

Her eyes are dark with suspicion but she cannot resist his tempting offer. Uhura stands stiffly but close enough that Leonard can reach out and work one of his hands between her own. "Who's been talking about me, Leonard?"

He takes a chance. "Why, everyone." He ignores her hiss to continue in hopes of easing the building explosion. "I've only heard good things about you, Nyota. Did you know that Scotty tells Keenser how gorgeous you are?"

A woman's vanity is often her weakness; at least, if Jocelyn was any indication of standard female behavior. Uhura's hands relax a little. She says, "Mr. Scott is a man of good taste."

Yeah, if you discount the fact that he does the most horrible imitation of a Scotsman Len has seen to date and keeps company with invisible people. But Leonard knows better than to say that. Rather, he adds, "And Chekov loves that you can speak Russian. It makes him feel better, not so lonely." Damn, if he isn't making this shit up but she seems to believe him well enough.

Her eyes are softening, thank the Lord. Leonard leads her back to the bed and settles her on the edge. Uhura licks her lips and asks cautiously, "What does Spock think?"

Spock? Oh, crap. What can an emotionless Vulcan feel? "Well, you know how he is," Len hedges. Apparently that was the wrong thing to say because her mouth shapes into a frown.

"What I know is that he's a cold bastard and that he keeps things from me! Even when—"

"Now, wait a minute, Uhura. Spock isn't exactly… cold—" Leonard sighs. "He's an alien. He's just different and he cannot really connect with us like one human to another." He holds up their joined hands. "Not like this, you understand?" Where the Hell is this coming from? Leonard ought to be on her side, but for some reason, after listening to Spock chatter on and off, or go silent for two days, or build his little toys makes him… well, Leonard's roommate. Oh God, Len realizes, he doesn't hate the guy. (He'll have to berate himself later.)

"I guess—you're right, Len. Can I call you Len?" He nods. Uhura adds a bit of sniff (it's so fake, Leonard wants to roll his eyes). "I suppose that's why we didn't work out."

That gives the man pause. "You… and Spock?"

She smiles, so suddenly, it blind-sides him. "Oh, you know. When he first arrived. I usually—" Leonard doesn't whimper, because if she's implying that she hooks up with all the newcomers then he is going to have to find a way to decline without fear of getting his eyes gouged out.

He decides to jump right in. "Darlin', if that's why you've been hanging around me, I hate to—"

"Oh, you won't have to worry, Leonard. I see the way you look at the Captain."

"—disappoint…" The rest trails off as he stares at her dumbly. "Excuse me?"

"You know, that hang-dog look. It's alright. I should have realized it the first time Spock started looking at him that way but now—"

"Whoa! Back it up, Uhura!" Leonard comes to his feet. "I am NOT pining after that no-good, bubble-headed blond…" Oh shit. He's picturing the blond hair now and it's almost honey like Joce's. Oh shit oh shitohshit… He squeezes his eyes shut in hopes of blocking out the image.

"It's okay, Len," Uhura is trying to soothe him instead. (How fucked up are they?) "When the Captain came back, even someone like Spock wasn't immune to his charms."

Like he doesn't know that. Like Leonard doesn't have to shove his one sad pillow over his ears and eyes in the middle of the God-damned night when Jim comes visiting his lover. Like the room doesn't stink of sex long afterwards, or he doesn't notice how Jim always leans over him, a shadow of a man in the dark, just before the Captain goes back down the hall.

It's… insane. This is all fucking INSANE, and Leonard is not into men—okay well, maybe he always has been, but Jocelyn hooked him six years ago and still has him hooked. And Leonard McCoy is monogamous. He isn't up for playing round-robin up and down the corridors of a shitty institution, and certainly isn't some call-boy for Jim—or, Lord forbid, another notch on the man's belt.

He's not, and he won't, and—

"Leonard!" Uhura snaps her fingers in front of his face. But it's not just Uhura, Spock is there—always one for silent creepy entrances that have given Leonard too many damn-near heart-attacks in the past month. (Wow, he's only been here a month. It seems like ages, putting up with these fool people.)

"Doctor, do you require assistance?"

Leonard suppresses the giggle building in his throat because if he lets it go, Spock will surely contact the nearest orderly for "assistance." Yeah, and have the doctor out on his ass and probably rooming with Scotty and Keenser in a heartbeat. For a crazy guy, Spock sure doesn't tolerate any craziness from others. (Except Jim, but Len won't think about those implications now; he's in no shape to.)

"Nyota, I will care for the Doctor."

Leonard ignores both of them—especially Uhura's arguing—and slides back onto his bed to curl up as close to the wall as possible. Unfortunately, he needs more than just this short blanket, if he's going to hide. Maybe Spock will lend him—

A weight settles on his bed, and it's not light either. (God, Joce was so dainty for such a firecracker of a woman.) "Go 'way, you blasted Vulcan!"

The weight doesn't lift because Leonard has failed to put the fear of God into Spock. 'Course, Spock would just say that Vulcans have their own religion. Eventually, the man—_Vulcan_—comes to some sort of decision, or finishes composing his speech in that massively annoying brain of his.

"Doctor—"

"I'm not a doctor," Leonard breaks in.

"You completed your training in the medical field."

Leonard sits up. "I didn't finish my last year of residency." _'Cause my life turned to shit_, he doesn't say. But he doesn't need to, apparently. There is a strange look in Spock's eyes. If he weren't so… Vulcan, McCoy would assume it was sympathy. "That's not the point. How did you know I wasn't lying?"

"The Captain," Spock answers simply.

Jim knows? What the Hell! "And how does our Jim-boy know anything beyond these concrete walls, Spock?"

"He inquired after you to Admiral Pike."

That Pike's an Admiral is something Len files away to address later. (In person, probably, with the Admiral himself.) "Well it seems to me that Jimmy avoids Pike like the plague."

"On the contrary, Doctor, Pike is Jim's godfather."

Brain melt-down. Huh? Just… what the fuck? Jim and Pike are… How Goddamn shit-ass crazy is this place? "No," Leonard denies.

"You are incorrect."

"Damn it, Spock! Don't fool around here! I already can't believe half the stuff that comes out of ya'll's mouths." No response. He switches tactics. "How can you just sit there so, so fucking calm all the time!"

Spock raises his eyebrow. He _raises his eyebrow_ which is not cool because that is something Leonard—AND NO ONE ELSE—can do. Later, McCoy will decide that he cemented his place at Fleet Heights because of one stupid, irrational reaction: he reaches out and slaps his hand over Spock's eyebrow (and half of his forehead).

The man (_Vulcan_, Goddamn it, okay?) jerks back at the contact of skin-to-skin with shock etched into his normally stoic face. Leonard's wrist is taken in such a hard grip, it starts aching.

Spock breathes harshly, like he's run a mile in under a minute. "Remove—your—hand."

McCoy blinks, realizes he's touching a touch-telepath (or someone who pretends he is). He looks at his hand, at its betrayal, and wonders if Spock is going to have an episode.

Suddenly, Leonard doesn't give a flying fuck. Not one tiny bit. He's damn tired of putting up with walking on eggshells around this lunatic. Spock's sensitive? Well, boo-fucking-hoo!

He meets Spock's wide eyes and says, succinctly, "Hell no."

"Remove your hand at once!"

"Or what, Spock? Gonna fly into one of your fits? How about we give 'em a proper name… like I don't know, a Vulcan rage? Fitting, ain't it?"

"Doctor, at once…"

"Why? 'Cause I'm touching you? Well tough shit, man."

"I—I—"

"Hmm? Can't hear you there for the stuttering, Spock."

"You are hi—highly il—illogical."

"Damn fucking straight. I'm as illogical as they come, and you're just gonna have to make like a nice Vulcan and cope with it." At those words, Leonard lets Spock slide his hand away. Spock drops it like it's hot and stares at it.

Leonard ignores the urge to ask what's wrong with his hand, so he does the only sensible thing to snap Spock from his stupor. He pokes him in the chest. Hard.

Spock blinks, raises his head to look at Leonard. Only his expression… why does Len feel like he's under a microscope for study?

"Fascinating."

Fascinating? God, they're both crazy. Leonard puts on his biggest scowl and demands, "Get off my bed, you green-blooded elf—No! Put it down, Spock, or we're gonna have a repeat of unpleasant contact, you hear me?"

Spock lowers his half-ascended eyebrow. "Satisfactory, Doctor?"

"When you get back to your side of the room, yeah, it will be."

Spock rises from Leonard's bed, clasping his hands behind his back. When he doesn't move any farther away, Leonard opts for going back to his original position. Why can't Fleet Heights at least have regular blankets? He pulls the sad piece of cloth up to his shoulder and rolls away from prying eyes.

After a minute or so, Spock finally decides to stop staring at his back, but not before he says, calm as ever, "I did not find our contact unpleasant, Leonard."

Oh, isn't that just fantastic?

"I'm going to sleep now."

"Very well."

"And if that boyfriend of yours pops in for a ride, take him down the hall. I need a—break." He almost said sanity break, but they're past those, aren't they?

"The Captain is not my… boyfriend, Doctor. He is my bondmate."

What's the difference? "Fine, your husband. Just keep him outta the room tonight."

As Leonard is actually about to doze off, his mind finally settling down (numb), he hears Spock say, out of the darkness, "Jim's desire to copulate in this room is… new. I suspect that it has little to do with accommodation and is more relevant in regards to your arrival."

Once his brain slowly processes those words, Leonard has no choice but to lie awake long into the night.


	5. Interlude

**So Jim demanded story-time, again. Here's one more round for the day, because apparently the fourth chapter wasn't enough to satisfy our crazy Captain.**

* * *

**Interlude**

* * *

Pike rounds on Jim as soon as he corners the kid in his office. "What in God's name is the matter with you, son?"

"It's Cupcake's fault. He threw the first punch."

"I don't care who threw the first punch. You _know_ better." Pike's face is a myriad of emotion: disappointment, resignation, some fear.

"Sorry, okay?"

"You can't say sorry and expect it to fix your mistakes, James. Those people out there—" He gestures to the halls beyond his office. "—they're sick, Jim, and they don't have the kind of rationality or judgment to function in normal society. You have to stop leading them around like a pack of kids!"

"Look, Chris—"

"No, no excuses can justify this sort of behavior. If you insist on endangering my patients, I'll have you removed from Fleet Heights."

"You can't do that!"

"I can, and I will if you won't take responsibility for the consequences of your actions."

A fire lights in Jim's eyes. "Responsibility? You don't understand. How could you, you're not insane! You don't—" he breaks off with some strong emotion, takes a moment to shove it down. "You don't understand what it's like for them… I DO. To be judged because you see the world differently, or because the world cannot accept that _you're _different." Jim stalks right up to Pike and says in a low, controlled tone. "I _am_ responsible for my crew. Who else is going to help them, Pike? Because this place? It's just a way to make them disappear, keep 'em off the rich folks' streets."

Pike sags, the lines in his face suddenly deeper, the gray in his hair more prominent. "What I don't understand is why you came back." His eyes have a soft plea, the same look that Jim's mother had when she begged him to understand why she had to leave him with Frank—Jim stops there. It's painful, still. "Why, Jim? You have the chance most of your… friends won't get; you have the chance to live your life, go to school, have a career. A family."

Kirk closes his eyes. "I do have a family. I have one, right here, the only one I need. And they need me too, Chris."

He knows that Pike will never truly understand his reasoning. After all, Pike's never been strapped to a bed, alone, with only unfriendly (uncaring) faces in the background. Or felt the despair—in those lucid moments—of forever in a colorless institution, listening to the screaming down the hall.

No, Jim may be better than he was, once upon a time—enough to live a semblance of a normal life, enough not to attract attention. But he's not cured of the memories—and he cannot be cured of his compassion or his ever-aching need to feel safe.

Here, at Fleet Heights, he_ is_ safe, secure behind these walls—and he intends to keep his crew safe too, not just in body but in spirit. So James T. Kirk accepts them, each and every one, the bad and the good. They want a break from the monotony of cafeteria food? He blackmails Samuel "Cupcake" Giotto into grocery shopping. They want an adventure? Well, that's half of the reason why Jim has spent the majority of his adolescent in here anyway. He's good at adventure—and apt to lose himself in it. So what if the doctors' call it a defense mechanism? It's been Jim's security blanket since those long silent months in the— _No, won't think about that_, Jim decides.

He shivers, tells Pike that he will be more careful in the future. "We don't mean any harm, Chris, and you know it. I'm not initiating a revolution or anything."

Pike's answering smile is wry. "Just see to it that you don't, Kirk. Puri is suspicious of you as it is."

If Jim could see his reflection, he might take note of that gleam in his blue eyes—one that always puts others on their guard. "I can fix that."

"No."

"But—"

"No, just play it low for the next few days. Just be—"

"Crazy?"

Pike sighs as if he cannot believe he's about to agree. "Yes."

"Chris, I am crazy," Jim grins. "It's not like I have to work extra hard to bring it out."

"That's why I'm terrified, boy."

* * *

"Hey, Bones."

"Mmmphhff.." Len mumbles into his pillow.

"Bones!"

"What, Jim! What?" Leonard snaps as he rolls onto his side. "I'm trying to sleep, damn you."

"But it's tomorrow, Bones," Kirk says just like a little kid.

"Ain't Christmas morning yet, Jimmy. Go bother Mama Spock."

Jim laughs loudly and climbs into Leonard's bed. "Jim! The bed's small enough as it—"

"Don't worry. We'll both fit. I know."

The doctor sighs. "I know that you know," he says dryly. "Jim?"

"Hmm?"

"Are you alright?"

"Huh?"

"Pike."

"Oh. Don't worry about Pike either."

"Spock said he was your godfather." The breathing on his neck stops for a second.

"Yeah."

Leonard waits but no other explanation is forthcoming. He decides to let it pass. "Tell me why I shouldn't dump you on your ass, kid."

Jim wiggles against his back. "Because my ass is pretty?"

"Try again."

"Spock's mad."

Leonard snorts into the crook of his arm. "How can you tell?"

"He refused to—"

"Whoa, okay, stop there." Then, more softly, "It can't work, Jim. Whatever it is you're thinking."

"Why not?"

At least he isn't dumb all the time. "I don't—Jocelyn—" Why won't the words come out?

There is a short silence. "That your wife, Bones?"

"Ex-wife." The word pops out. For the first time, it just forms without a fight or a shuddering ache in his chest. Len closes his eyes, knocks down the unexplainable distress rising from the pit of his stomach.

"Oh."

Two more minutes of silence, broken only by the sound of breathing. "I'm gonna kick you out in a minute," he warns tiredly.

Jim answers, in a voice uncharacteristically serious, "I don't want to be alone."

There's no choice, then, but one. "Okay."

At first, Len tries to pretend that he is not in bed with Captain Kirk but fails miserably in the end. The heat of Jim's body makes up for the lack of a decent blanket, at the very least.


	6. A Beginning Equals an End

**A Beginning Equals an End**

* * *

Life is one step forward and three stumbling steps back. In Jim's case, Leonard compares his progress as getting halfway up a set of stairs before the fool trips over his own feet and crashes back down to the bottom. However, Kirk has a tenacity and stubbornness that Len must give him credit for—because after every fall, the Captain seems to shake off the pain and start marching up those stairs again.

Is it bad that this latest setback is Leonard's fault? Because, yeah, he feels a little guilty about that. (Even if his brain says he shouldn't, nuh-uh, no way.)

It all starts on the morning after. Not that kind of morning after—well, not really. Leonard wakes up to a nudging, and as it turns out, Jim is head-butting him from behind like a kitten that wants to nurse on its mama. Only, Len ain't no female cat—nor a female anything. So he does what any irate grumpy-head does in such a case…

Flips the mother-fucker out of bed.

"Ow! What was that for?"

"Waking me up, jackass."

"Jesus, Bones, you're cranky. I wasn't even awake myself."

Leonard has only one eye open, but it's trained on that God-awful puppy-got-kicked look on Jim's face. He's not buying it (nope, not at all). It's not that Len's mother weaned him on hard liquor or anything—it's that his father would knock the tar out of him if he caught wind of sympathy. So Len can't feel bad over Jim's pout, because he's a man, a McCoy and a wanna-make-Father-proud bastard son-of-a-bitch.

'Course, when Dad offs himself and half of the staff working for him, well maybe Len can forego following every teaching to its letter.

So he keeps frowning but tosses Jim the only pillow and his blanket. "Wanna stay? Fine. But I get the bed to myself."

"It's alright," Jim says as he picks himself up from the floor. "I've got Captain-ly duties to attend to this morning anyhow."

"Yeah, well, just make sure you put the toilet seat back down."

Leonard burrows into the bed as Jim stretches the blanket across Leonard's legs. Jim grins at him sleepily and disappears from the corner of Len's eye. But he hears a low murmur of "Morning, Spock" and suddenly feels embarrassed for being privy to a private moment.

Jim calls over his shoulder as he turns the corner of the doorway, "Report in the Ready Room at 1100. Kirk, out!"

Len grunts. Never-mind the embarrassment. What's to feel embarrassed about when Jim is obviously satisfied in thinking he's roped himself a Vulcan _and _a doctor?

That's when, as Len's eyelids are drooping, he feels for his pillow and…

"Damn you, Kirk!"

That bastard made off with his pillow!

Spock is the one who answers in his dry factual way. "Jim steals."

Of course he does; Leonard should have known. James T. Kirk is a yammering magpie with his eye on anything shiny or fluffy.

Turning onto his stomach, the man whimpers into his sheets. So what does that make Len? The shine or the fluff?

* * *

"Are we going to get zapped?" Chekov is worrying his bottom lip and blinking those big doe eyes at Doctor McCoy.

Well, Leonard doesn't have an answer for that. After staying in his room all day due to the Surface Incident—which is now how Len's brain refers to their stupid antics—he was beginning to feel a bit walled in; it didn't help that Spock is able to entertain himself but not McCoy—at least, like a normal human being. But he slept plenty, moped plenty, and got to freak Spock out (with the touching) and possibly get groped in his sleep by a handsy fellow named Kirk.

Just another day in the nut house, cheerie-o!

So here he is, watching Pavel fret over future punishment while Sulu fiddles with his knife collection. Today it consists of two butter knives and one chopstick. Len will keep a watchful eye on Sulu and the chopstick as long as they plan to remain in his vicinity.

But no Jim.

_Shit._ Now he's worrying about Jim. How is it that Leonard can act this desperate when he still hears, every time he turns a fucking corner in this place, the echo of Joce's laugh as he handed her the keys to a new car? (That Clay and she are probably joy-riding around in it right now doesn't bear thinking about.)

No. No, Leonard, he tries to talk himself into some sense, you are not gonna rebound or transfer your infatuation. Think about something really awful, think about something like…

Spock?

Spock is striding down the length of the cafeteria. He stops directly in front of Leonard and just stares, like Len's supposed to pick up on his brain-waves.

He rolls his eyes. "You have to communicate with us mere Humans the old-fashioned way, Spock."

"Indeed."

Yes, Sir, indeed. He'll show Spock indeed in a second. "Chekov!"

"Yes, Doctor?"

"Are you telepathic like Spock?"

The kid's eyes go wide as he leans forward in anticipation. "Why yes, Doctor, I was born this way! In Russia, it is fact that children with natural curl are—"

"Illogical."

"No, Mr. Spock, it is the truth!"

"Your truth is false."

"But I am incapable of lying…"

Leonard watches, satisfied, as Spock's back goes very rigid. "Why, Spock, you might want to check your Vulcan control. I'd say you're developing an involuntary eye-twitch." When Spock gives McCoy the full force of his frosty gaze, Len adds, "Doctor's diagnosis, you understand."

Spock decides to waste no more time on the pathetic Humans. "I am here to inform you of the Captain's request for your presence, Doctor McCoy."

As Spock does an abrupt about-face like a toy soldier, McCoy calls, "Hey! This doesn't involve any more missions of extreme urgency, does it?"

Spock answers him over his shoulder on his exit. "Not to my knowledge, Doctor. Good day."

Wow. Damn Vulcan is an ice-queen.

And probably a bitch at that.

Then he realizes, "Where the Hell am I supposed to go?"

Scotty pops his head into the conversation. "To the Engine Room, McCoy."

Huh? The engine room. That sounds dangerous. An engine room in a mental institution is what? The boiler room? Oh Good God.

"Hell no!"

"Hell no!" Chekov agrees happily. McCoy scowls at his parrot, and turns to Mr. Scott. "How do I get there?"

"Why, follow Keenser and me, Doctor McCoy. We'll be glad to show ye the way."

Why not? It's not like this yellow brick road will lead to Oz—unless Oz is Hell. "Fine," he says and gets up. "Sulu." The pilot blinks up at him. "If I'm not back for Activity Hour, tell Spock he can put in for a new roomie."

"Okay," Sulu agrees somewhat morosely before hunching over his collection again and recounting the knife set. Chekov gives his friend a little knowing pat on the back, and leans over to whisper (as loudly as usual) "It's a 3 day."

Scotty explains to him, with the help of good old companion Keenser, as they head down into the basement, "Captain told Sulu it's always good to give day each a number."

"And let me guess," Len says, "3 stands for shitty."

Scotty nods. "Pretty much."

They bypass the first floor exit, head through an off-shoot of a door and down more stairs. The air tastes stale and a little damp. McCoy stops Scotty before he can turn another corner. "Hey, Scotty."

"Yeah?"

"Why is the Engine Room below the surface of the planet?"

The Engineer blinks and tilts his head at the doctor. "Don't know, Sir. It just is."

Ah, yes. In this place, everything _just is._ McCoy sighs. "Lead on."

"Aye."

* * *

Keenser, he's told, is in dire need of the little boy's room (well, that answers _that _question of gender, Len supposes), so Montgomery Scott leaves McCoy in a long basement room tightly packed with junk and pipes. There's a _clanking _ahead, and suddenly Len wants one of those fork-weapon-thingies. It'd be better than nothing. Or wait. Maybe a Spock. Yes, perhaps Vulcan height can be useful for something, like shielding poor defenseless doctors.

"Jim?" he calls.

He barely catches the flash of a figure before he's pinned against a wall between two big pipes. McCoy is a little too breathless to curse, but he wants to do so, quite fiercely when Jim grins in his face.

"Bones!"

"J—Jim, you stupid dumbass! You could have given me a heart attack!"

"Naw, Bones. You aren't that old." Why is Jim smiling so damn broadly? "Besides, Doctor—" The Captain places a hand on McCoy's chest. "—I think your heart's strong enough to take a little scare."

"Listen, Kirk," Len tries for bite to warn the man off, "you just don't go around sneaking up on people." A trickle of water (or sweat) runs down the back of Len's shirt.

"Or what?"

Leonard's brain stutters when that bright grin gets a little closer, the blond hair so fucking close. "Or," he licks his lips.

Why is Jim—leaning—_shit!_ He manages barely a squeak of protest as Jim covers Len's mouth with his own. His brain doesn't stutter again; now it's shooting sparks of a thousand colors. It says _yes, no, Jim_ and _Jocelyn_ all in one giant big meshing heap of thought.

When Jim finally lets up and gives Leonard a square inch of space to breathe, he's afraid to think about the trembling his body betrays in the arms of this golden-haired man. The smile on Jim's face starts to fade, then, and his eyes are very blue.

"Bones?"

"Can't," he says with a little hitch.

"Hey, no—"

"Can't, Jimmy." That Leonard is able to say the name is a big win in his book. Right now, his legs don't feel steady enough to hold him upright (if Jim weren't pressing him into the wall) and his heart is doing a dangerously unhappy little jig in his chest. Because—after all the blustering, bitching and down-right refusals—Leonard McCoy finds out that he is terrified.

He's terrified of Jim; he's terrified of what Jim wants.

Most of all, he's terrified that his fear might disappear and he won't have a reason not to say _okay_.

"Bones, I'm sorry. I didn't—"

Jim has let him go, stepped back and allowed Leonard a chance to regroup from the attack. And the Captain—no, not Captain, this is just a man, Len can see—is apologizing. Sincerely apologizing.

Kirk turns his face away and Leonard watches his profile, as his Adam's apple bobs when he swallows.

Lord, he's hurt. Len has hurt Jim; it's obvious in the retreat, in the lines of those shoulders that aren't bowed back with pride. "Jim…"

Those blue eyes come back to stare at him. "I am sorry," he says quietly. "I just—I can't—I want—"

A man without an explanation or a line. A man floundering in his own remorse. Leonard's heart clenches in painful sympathy. "Jim, it's okay."

"Not it's not. I just forget sometimes, that it's not real." He laughs unexpectedly, deep and bitter.

What isn't? This? Them, here in the boiler room? The kiss? All of those things are very real to Leonard.

Jim shrugs and holds out his hand. Leonard doesn't hesitate to take it but Jim isn't pulling him close, he's just leading them both back up to the world and their reality.

He catches another glimpse of Kirk's face at the foot of the stairwell. A brightness is strikingly absent, for which Leonard feels a bit of shame. (It's his fault, even if he couldn't not push the man away.) They ascend, no words spoken between them.

Uhura is standing at the entrance to the cafeteria. Jim drops his hand, says quickly, "See you later, Bones." That the words are flat is obvious to everyone, even him.

"Did you enjoy the tour of the Engine Room, Len?" Uhura wants to know.

Leonard watches the Captain stroll away, chin up but shoulders hunched, something weighing them down. "No," he answers quietly. "I didn't."

* * *

He contemplates taking his meds when he is handed a little paper cup of pills. His body hates the medicine, of course; it makes him want to sleep more than the depression does, and he'll have dizzy spells or heart palpitations. But the boiler room is on the back of his mind, along with Jim's pained blue eyes. That's his doing. Leonard knows what it's like to be rejected, how much it hurts. He feels ill when he realizes he is as good at ripping out hearts as Jocelyn is.

"We don't have all day, McCoy. Take your medicine." The white-coat woman is tapping her foot and rearranging the other cups on the tray.

Well, there's always later. So he downs the contents of the cup—or pretends too—while pills tumble into the sleeve of his robe. He sets the empty container down on the tray and goes about his business. It took a few nights of practice, but he can do this routine with a frightening ease. If Leonard McCoy makes a gesture of rubbing the stubble along his cheek or scratching his head, as he walks away, its purpose is to trap the pills just past the crook of his arm so they don't slide back out of his sleeve. (That would sure be Hell to explain, and most likely crime enough to get him sent straight to Dr. Puri for alternate treatment.)

Only difference is that this time, he doesn't shake them into a sock, in the privacy of his room, for eventual journey down the toilet in the bathroom. No, Leonard holds the three little pills in the palm of his hand and tries to decide what's best.

Spock has stopped playing with his work-in-progress to watch McCoy. Leonard, ignoring the Vulcan curiosity, rolls the pills between his fingers and finally clenches them in a tight fist. He sighs.

Why can't he accept that he is this messed up, enough to be medicated? And after the shuddering memory of this afternoon, why shouldn't Len just give in? Or give up? Leonard may not have thought so previous to today, but now he knows, with certainty, that he is causing half of the problem with Jim. When the Captain comes around, he responds—almost involuntarily. Doesn't matter that Leonard may tell him to fuck off or go screw an orderly or drown himself in the toilet. No, Leonard gives him a response all the same, and it's obvious that Jim loves a challenge. But truth of the matter is, the only possible outcomes to this fiasco are going to break the boy's heart—or make him worse, mentally, than he already is.

Despite the fantasy behind the words, Leonard is a doctor—has been one for years, in his mind, if not in practice. And doctors heal, not harm. So whose fault is this, really?

Best to take the pills; he can live with a half-functional mind, if it comes down to it.

Of course, it would be easier to swallow the pills if Leonard's wrist wasn't wrapped in long fingers. His eyes open. (When did they close?)

"Spock?" he says uncertainly.

"I fail to understand the necessity of this action."

Leonard blinks. Just like Spock to defy his expectations when he's already on rocky ground. "Spock, this isn't your business."

"Intentional harm to oneself—"

"What the fuck, man! Seriously? These are my prescribed happy pills, a'right? If I don't take 'em, I don't get outta here. Ever."

"When you consume this medication, Leonard, you consume poison to your mind. It is illogical."

What? Okay, so maybe Len has never questioned if Spock takes his own medication or not, because it isn't any of his business (unless the guy goes bat-shit enough that Len has to sleep with one eye open). But for Spock to make the assumption that Leonard doesn't need his pills—when he knows how much the Vulcan detests a loopy roommate—it's unfathomable.

And has Leonard at a loss. "I don't understand you at all, you crazy Vulcan."

"You are not required to understand my thought process. You must accept that it is correct."

Spock meets his stare head on, a tilt to his head that indicates a sense of authority. And it suddenly makes Leonard furious. So he opens his fist, lets the pills drop to the floor and roll out of sight under his bed. His next words are said through clenched teeth. "Let me go."

Spock releases him.

"You—" The anger is boiling now (another stage of reaction?). "You are a lunatic, you know that, Spock? Out of all the nut-jobs on this floor, you are the fucking craziest of them all. And you know why?"

"You may explain, if it… aids you, Doctor."

Leonard lets out a string of curses. Spock waits and as Leonard is about to give him the what-for on people who think they're aliens and how FUCKING INSANE that is, it's the look in his roommate's eyes that arrests him. Spock's face may be cool and smooth of expression, but his eyes are not.

They are Human eyes, and there's something lurking in them that isn't so calm like the rest. It unnerves Leonard and, instead of speaking, he swallows first. Stops to think.

About to cause some more damage, aren't you, Leonard? What a selfish bastard.

How many times has Spock had to listen to people hurt him with words, with the disgust in their voices? Leonard knows that the heart can fortify its walls but that doesn't mean the words don't cling to it like disease, waiting.

And he's such a fucking bastard, he was going to add his two cents to the rejection, drive the spike a little deeper. (What kind of man does that make McCoy?)

"Doctor?"

"Yeah, Spock?"

"Do you have nothing further to say?"

"No, Spock." As his roommate blinks at him, he decides, "Wait, I do." Spock is patient; Leonard will give the man his due. "I—I'm sorry."

Well, now there _is _a way to surprise Spock (without touching him). The Vulcan repeats, as if testing the words, "You are—sorry?"

"Yeah. I—well, Jim and I-" He breaks off, takes a deep breath. "I'm not having a good day, but that's not your fault." His smile is weak. "Call it my stupid Human emotions, Spock."

Spock's eyes are dark. "Emotions are not stupid, Leonard. They are natural and necessary to the soundness of the mind."

He doesn't point out the fallacy of Spock's statement as compared to the Vulcan's suppressed-emotion policy because Spock is going for understanding—and attempting to help Leonard feel better. (Isn't that strange?)

"Mine haven't been behaving very normally for a long time, Spock. I know that, and I can accept it too. But when I get to the point that I'm hurting others…"

"You are Doctor McCoy; it is not in your nature to harm."

"I'm Human, Spock; it's in every Human's nature to harm."

Spock is silent for a moment. Finally, he offers, "Perhaps it is better to say that each Human has the potential to harm, Leonard; but a man also has the will to control his actions…and his decisions."

"I know," he agrees. "But there will be times when the reaction is instinctive—even if it's wrong and when—logically—" God, did he just use that word? "—a man knows his action is inappropriate."

"Involuntary response, yes."

Such a strange conversation to be having with his roommate (this usually aloof man), but Leonard feels somewhat soothed.

There is a question in Spock's eyes, so Leonard tells him (_God, they're being so honest_.), "Go ahead. Ask."

"You have been un-medicated for twenty-seven days and seven point two hours."

Leonard finishes for him, "Why would I change my mind today?"

"Affirmative."

Damn. This isn't the sort of conversation he wants to have with Jim's lover. Yeah, your husband made a move on me in the basement but I refused him. Sorry, adultery sucks. (_I would know_.)

Leonard shivers because it occurs to him that Jim might be more like Jocelyn than he thought. That's disheartening, to say the least.

Spock startles McCoy with "Jim has acted prematurely."

"Excuse me?"

Spock looks at him as if they should be able to discuss this kind of situation over tea. "A physical advance, Leonard. The Captain—"

"Wait! You knew? You—" The realization runs him over like a truck. Spock told him that Jim wanted to see him; Spock— "Spock! You bastard! How can you just let your _bondmate_ cheat on you?" Leonard's stomach roils as his mind makes undeniable connections.

Of course, Spock had to have known what Jim was after; Hell, the whole floor knows it! He had assumed that Jim did this sort of flirting with all the new people. Now Len realizes that he was wrong (so damn wrong), and that Spock knew. Why didn't he protest?

Because, turning a blind eye…

Leonard has a flash of the days when Jocelyn told him "No, just working late at the office, dear. Be home later." Or that time she forgot to take her clothes to the dry-cleaners and he was going to for her, lifted the blouse—and smelt the heavy scent of cologne (but one he didn't use).

All those times that, now, make sense in hindsight because Jocelyn was having an affair, was _cheating _on him. The worst of it is, he—Leonard knows with a sick sensation—would have just kept turning a blind eye.

"Leonard." There are hands on his shoulders.

He makes a small noise in his throat.

"Leonard, you must sit down." He's guided gently to the edge of the bed. Spock does not sit with him but rather squats in front of his legs. (Oh Lord, this is surreal. This is Spock, kneeling at his feet, and it's just _not _real.)

"Jim desires you."

Leonard laughs a little (brokenly) because one can always count on Spock to not soften the truth. "He's with you, Spock. It's not right."

"This is not a case of morality. I accept Jim's behavior because I have always known that he was seeking you."

What? He must have said that aloud because Spock takes pity on his confusion.

"Before Jim and I… agreed to our relationship, he informed me that our bond would not be complete." Spock pauses, seems to think carefully on his next words. "Our relationship is not solely between two, Leonard, it is three—but the third has not, until thirty-one days ago, been present."

Leonard's brain feels sort of sluggish, like he did take his meds and just didn't realize it. Because this… explanation of Spock's? It doesn't fucking make sense.

He tries to understand. "Jim told you to expect a third person?" Jesus. What?

"Yes. And now you are here."

"Me? ME! Spock—I may be a lot of things, but—"

"You do not understand the dynamic or purpose of a triad."

"Yes, exactly!"

Spock does something so incredibly off-the-wall, it rocks Leonard's world. He reaches up, runs his fingers along Leonard's jaw, and tells him "You may not understand now but I believe that you will, given time… and incentive." If, at this moment, Leonard's eyes fall out of his head, he won't be surprised. At all.

Spock is purposefully touching him and it's anything but platonic; if the caressing of those fingers is any indication of Spock's intentions…

Then the Vulcan pulls back and rises to his feet. Leonard could not possibly form another word if he wanted to, not even to complain about the sudden loss of comforting heat (which is information his brain tucks away carefully out of sight until he can cope with it).

Spock says, "For a certain period of days—" Gee, the Vulcan sure can be vague when he wants to; he'd make a damn good politician. "—I was hesitant of your inclusion, Leonard, despite Jim's instinct to accept you. However, your… unique personality, and defiance, has prompted a re-evaluation of the situation." Why aren't Spock's eyes cold? Len didn't know they could twinkle quite like that (like Jim's).

(His heart has lodged itself in his throat.)

"I would be most pleased to extend the bond to you," Spock finishes.

Pressing damp palms onto his pants, Len licks his lips and asks, carefully, "You would?"

"Yes."

"And want to have a threesome?"

"I desire more than a 'threesome,' Leonard. But yes, that is acceptable also."

Oh God. Leonard does the entirely wrong thing by flicking his gaze to Spock's corner of the room—to that bed, where for an uncountable number of sleepless nights, he's listened to Jim and Spock make love.

And well, shit, they're inviting him over. In the span of ten minutes, this has grown from complicated to seriously-too-intricate for Leonard's poor brain. Jim wanting to get into his pants—not surprising; the kid is much too frisky by nature. But both Spock and Jim, who want to share an intimacy and not just a romp? (Damn, not to mention a "bond" which probably equates to Vulcan marriage...)

Leonard decides he cannot handle this type of thing right now. So he asks, with a (undeniable) plea, "Can you give me time to think about it?"

"Had you not requested it, I would have to reconsider the hastiness of my decision, Leonard."

Leonard snorts in relief. At least they are back on familiar (entertaining) territory. Besides, Leonard seriously doubts that Spock made a "hasty" decision at all; the Vulcan is in love with intricate analysis.

"How long can I have?" he inquires, just for good measure.

"We have ample time." Damned if the Vulcan isn't smiling at him with his eyes.

Leonard closes his own. Ample time—yes, that's just what scares him, because they are going to be here, waiting. And that means Leonard will have to decide sooner rather than later.


	7. Trouble A'Comin'

**Trouble A'Comin'**

* * *

Jim doesn't lay a hand on Leonard again. Sure, they go back to a tentative balance of Captain and Doctor in which Jim (at least) speaks to him as crazily as he does the others. The difference between his treatment of Len, however, is glaring obvious when compared to the rest of the crew. Jim is his normal touchy-feely self: a hand on Spock's shoulder, a slap on Scotty's back, or a squeeze of someone's arm. But Leonard? No, definitely not. It's as if Jim cannot come within a ten feet radius of the doctor or he'll get stunned by an electric force field.

Leonard doesn't like it. At all.

Of course, he's berated himself for being so foolish over it. Told himself that he ought to be thrilled to get what he wanted. Then it occurs to Len, late one evening as he stares up at that same spot on the ceiling, that he really has been lying to everyone (and himself) for a very long time.

Leonard actually enjoys Jim's hands on his person. It is a connection to another human being that he feared he would never feel again; had been convinced that if Jocelyn didn't want him, there must be something desperately wrong with Leonard.

But along comes Jim, with no compunction whatsoever about getting into Leonard's personal space, _like he belonged there._

And now Leonard is going to have to convince Jim to start doing it again.

He's contemplated several scenarios. He could ask Jim to forgive him, say sorry again, but that will probably be as useless as before; this issue goes much deeper than a simple apology between them. Yelling at Jim seems like a good idea too, but if the kid is as jumpy as he seems right now, it might backfire and land them both in time-out (or worse) and still no better off in their relationship. (Shit, he just acknowledged that they have a relationship.) He has also thought about making the first move. (Lord, why does this sound like two awkward teenagers too afraid to say _Hey, wanna date?_ to the other?) Now, the ending to this scenario will go either one of two ways: Jim is shocked but thrilled and attempts to jump Leonard's bones (which he'll have to refuse _again_) or Jim is shocked but understanding, for an insane person, and gets the message that it's _okay_ to touch Len.

But that's the real problem here. Is Jim insane? Because, frankly, there are moments of such lucid clarity from the man that it defies logic. It's as if the Captain is Jim's mask that he can wear at will, and discard at will too. It makes the doctor curious, on a scientific level; on the other hand, it makes him seriously confused and throws him into a whole other world of crazy. Leonard is here by choice, at Fleet Heights; well, he arrived by choice. Getting out is another matter entirely, and probably the biggest (most important) blind-spot he wasn't in any decent shape to consider when he knew he needed to get away from everyone and made that snap-decision walking out of the psychiatrist's office.

So if that does make him crazy, well, Len is okay with that. Everybody is screwed up in some ways; sometimes it's just more obvious, and Leonard firmly believes that no one likes to be reminded how fragile the mind can be.

Jim, Jim. Why is he here?

Of course, there's only one way to find out—and it's not getting five different stories from five lunatics.

Leonard cannot help the smile on his face, and he is very glad that it's dark so Spock cannot declare how "fascinating" it is. Tomorrow he does have a date—with Admiral Pike.

* * *

Uhura settles onto Chekov's bed and rests her feet on Scotty's lap, who is on the floor below her. Sulu is bouncing around from one corner of the room to the next as Pavel directs him to "clean up for the guests." She throws a practiced eye over the room, seeing nothing too terribly suspicious, and decides to let it go in lieu of the larger problem on their hands.

"Hikaru, sit down," she says in Japanese, then repeats the sentiment to Chekov in Russian.

They both obey like puppies and that pleases her.

"The meeting is called to order, gentlemen," she says, trying to imitate the Captain's voice. It has the effect to making their eyes go wide in appreciation. She hides her smile.

Chekov rocks forward with "Where is the Captain?"

"The Captain can't be here for this, Pavel, because it concerns him." She pauses, notes their full attention (and probably Keenser's too). "It also concerns Doctor McCoy and First Officer Spock."

"Oooo…" Pavel is always one for secrets. That's why Uhura likes him so much; they share gossip and she can update her log on the undercurrents of Fleet Heights. (She'll admit that it makes her a little upset if the day's entry remains blank.)

"What's going on, Uhura? With the Captain, I mean?"

"Sulu, I'll tell you—" She leans in and lowers her voice because she's very knowledgable about secret spy stuff like this; Uhura always had a close eye and ear on every neighbor within a three mile radius of her mama's house. "—Leonard won't accept the Captain's offer of marriage."

Sulu and Pavel nod knowingly but Scotty blinks his ignorance. Uhura takes pity on her man, who thinks she's beautiful (because she is); after all, he does spend a majority of his time in the Engine Room, fiddling away with those pipes. It's a good thing Scotty was in his family's plumbing business; that is, until an angry client called the authorities on Scotty and his father, and Scotty got sent here. (His family was very upset, he told her in confidence—another secret in her precious journal.)

"You all know that I decided to let Spock marry the Captain last Christmas." They agree with her, as one. It was a big event, one that she is very proud of—her announcement to the cafeteria: _Spock, I release you to the arms of Captain Kirk! _"You also know that the Captain has always had two lovers."

They all do; Kirk has tested each one of them, as they arrived—though Scotty is the exception because he was here before Kirk and that was a _very_, very long time ago. Uhura recalls being a little put-out that she wasn't One of the Triumvirate, as the Captain liked to say; but she got over it, when Jim left and Spock arrived. But then Kirk came back and she had to get over it all over again. (It's a small consolation that she knew Jim was on his way back—after all, she comprehends Klingon well enough and her trusty spy hearing-kit works marvels; Uhura can hear even through closed doors.)

"Well, Leonard McCoy is the third!"

Scotty blinks again, and says, "Oh." Uhura frowns at him. He winces, tells her, "Sorry, lass, but I just don't understand why the Captain needs 'em both. Can't a man be satisfied with just one?"

"A normal man like yourself, yes, Mr. Scott," she purrs in response and he blushes. "But we all know that the Captain is more than a normal man. He is our Captain and we don't follow normal men!"

There is a chorus of _No, we don't!_'s.

Uhura falls into her role with ease. "Captain Kirk has had a dream all his life—" Well, not quite, since he has thirteen or so (but that's their little secret). "—of a starship called Enterprise and a crew just like us. We are his family; we love him. And he loves us, protects us as a father would his children." She pauses to raise her chin. "The Captain needs one more, to cement our power in the Universe. The Captains needs Doctor McCoy."

She looks each man in the eyes and finally says, "And it's our job to make sure he gets McCoy."

"How?" Pavel and Hikaru want to know.

This is why she's in charge. "I have a plan, and it shall commence immediately!"

Uhura gets up, walks to the door, and surveys the outside. No one listening. Excellent. When she goes back to the huddled three, she looks down upon her men with fondness.

"What does a woman want most in the world?"

"Pretty shoes?"

"No, Chekov, though that's a good guess."

"A man to devote his life to her?" Scotty tries. She rewards him with a bright smile and the words "Close—and while very true—not quite what I'm thinking." Sulu doesn't like the guessing game, so she lets his participation slide.

"A woman wants to be rescued," she tells them. "The Captain has to rescue the Doctor from grave peril and he'll love him forever!"

Sulu and Chekov are in awe of the triumph in her voice, but again, it's Scotty who looks unsure. "McCoy isn't a woman, Nyota," he argues.

She indulges him with a wave of her hand, "Technicalities, Scotty. He's still a man who'll need to be rescued."

"Really? Is he in trouble?"

She pulls her makeshift purse from the bed and unfolds a piece of paper from it. "This," Uhura points, "is where we come in—and the Klingons."

It's very well-known that Nyota Uhura is a fantastic tactician, only second to the First Officer. It is the reason why, though she is currently Head of Communications, Uhura is on the command track too. Maybe it's time to remind the Captain of that little fact.

A brilliant plan is discussed, tweaked, and set into motion.

* * *

"What can I do for you, McCoy?"

Leonard wastes no time. He shuts the door to Pike's office and drags a chair up to the desk. "You can answer a few questions about Jim."

"No."

"Yes."

"Leonard, you understand about patient confidentiality; here, at Fleet Heights, its adherence is even more necessary."

He tries another approach. "As the Captain's Doctor, it is my right to be privy to all of Jim's medical history—and by medical, Pike, I mean mental as well as physical."

Christopher Pike leans back in his chair, amused. "And do you truly provide Jim with care?"

Uh. "I could," Leonard hedges.

"How fantastic. A man on the brink of self-destruction wants to oversee the health of my godchild. What kind of fool do you take me for?"

That's it! If this asshole doesn't want to play fair… "The kind of fool—excuse me, _bastard_—who traps a sane man in a nuthouse when it's wrong."

Pike's nostrils flare. It is so reminiscent of one of Jim's angry expressions that Leonard wonders just how long Jim has been in this man's care, to pattern after him.

"It was Jim's choice," Pike tells him.

What? Leonard slowly relaxes his hands on the armrests of the chair and lets his body slump in a casual manner. Don't give the Admiral any indication that you don't know, Len. Don't. Because Leonard was talking about himself and that Pike assumes he's speaking of Jim is a misunderstanding that might get McCoy much further than he anticipated.

"Well, it was the wrong choice," he tells Pike.

Pike rises from behind his desk and paces over to a bookshelf and back. (God, so much like Jim.) "Don't you think I know that! Don't you think I want better for _my godson_ than to be locked up in this place the rest of his life!" he snaps at McCoy.

Leonard swallows to get his heart out of his throat. Uhura's words suddenly flash back to him: _…when the Captain came back._ He says slowly, "Jim was released, but you just said that he made the decision to return."

Pike frowns at him. "I wouldn't say he just walked back in here and asked for a place to sleep. The kind of shit that kid pulled—I'm lucky Dr. Puri didn't recommend a permanent padded cell for him in the Isolation unit."

Len briefly closes his eyes. "Jim has a God-given talent for working people up. Tell me something I don't know."

Then Pike is narrowing his eyes at Leonard in such a way that has the doctor's heart go _thump-thump_ with nerves. "How about you tell me something, McCoy. Why am I having this discussion with one of my patients?" What makes you different than the rest?

Leonard decides to be honest. "Because I understand Jim's decision a whole lot better than most, Sir. I played the doctors at St. John's on purpose."

There is a short silence in which Pike leans a hip against his desk, crosses his arms, and studies Leonard McCoy. "You realize that I could just accept your words as the talk of a crazy desperate man."

"I am crazy," Leonard tells him. "Why else would I want to be here? And I was desperate. My wife left me for my best friend and… the world just sort of fell to pieces. It wasn't a place I wanted to be anymore." He can't explain it better than that.

"Suppose I believe you, McCoy. If by those standards, you are crazy, then so is Jim."

Len smiles before he can stop himself. "I'll agree with you there. The kid is a loon, alright. But he's also more than that, though I wasn't sure why."

Pike nods in understanding. Leonard has him on his side, at the moment, so he takes advantage of that. "Why," Leonard asks calmly, "was Jim put here in the first place?"

They've circled back around to the initial issue. Will Pike share that information with him? If not, Leonard has one more trump card to play.

"Maybe you should ask him to tell you," Pike says with caution.

"And Jim'll give me a straight answer? I think not." Leonard decides to throw down the last card. "You told him about me, Pike, despite—and I quote—the confidentiality clause. It's only fair to tell _me_ about _James Kirk_."

Pike drops his head, and Leonard feels a brief satisfaction at his win. He doesn't make the mistake of letting it show on his face.

"Jim's father died in a farming accident. I know, because I was there visiting at the time. George—that was his name—was and always shall be my best friend. Winona was pregnant with Jim, and the shock and stress of George's death sent her into early labor. Jim was born in this world without knowing his father, and I have tried very hard to fill the gap for him."

Leonard tightens his jaw and locks down his painfully trembling heart.

"Winona eventually remarried just for that reason—to give Jim a father. But Frank—" Pike spits the name out like a bad taste in his mouth. "—was a selfish son-of-a-bitch who didn't give a shit about being a dad to a young boy." Pike stops to get himself under control.

"And?" Leonard prompts after the silence goes on for too long.

"And Winona left one summer when Jim was thirteen, for training in a new position at work—she was so happy about it, about the better pay and being able to afford to leave Iowa one day."

Leonard sees where this is going. "What did that bastard do to Jim?" His hands want to shake but he clutches the armrests with all of his strength.

"Frank had a temper and Jim was good at pissing him off. Took out his car and turned it over into a ditch."

Running through the possibilities of injuries, on instinct, makes Len feel ill, imagining a young broken Jim. Pike seems to know what Len is thinking about, because he assures the man, "Just broke his arm. This was right before Winona left, so Frank was waiting to punish Jim—only no one knew it."

Len wonders if Jim did, back then, and begged his mother not to leave him with Frank. He shudders.

"Frank locked him in a grain silo for almost two months."

"Jesus." There is bile in the back of his mouth. "How come no one—"

"Frank was mean as Hell but not dumb; he'd let Jim out to take Winona's phone calls and he gave the boy water, scraps of food. It's a miracle Jim didn't die of dehydration in there, or suffocate from the heat."

Jim Kirk has a strong will, they both know that. But his mind…

"It's my fault, Leonard, because I was supposed to visit that summer. Winona asked me to, just to check in with Jimmy, and I—I had just started here. I didn't get out to Iowa until much too late." Pike ages in the light of his self-blame.

Leonard has no consoling words for the man, because there aren't any. "And Jim had a mental break-down?"

"You know, to this day, I'm not entirely sure. He was in the dark, starving in the heat, for so long. I think he lived in his mind, in a fantasy that helped him escape."

"The space ship."

"Yes. An idea that Jim has loved since he was a child; he used to have an entire collection of sci-fi novels in his bedroom."

It makes too much sense. Captain Kirk in the deep black of space, with a loyal crew, villains to fight and worlds to save. What child wouldn't want to be a hero? A truth strikes Len so hard, he has to suppress a gasp. If Jim had grown up normally, without the tarnish of incarceration in a mental institution, then James T. Kirk _would have_ become a hero, no doubt—would have been a great man that others aspired to be like. And this reality makes Len ache for Jim and what could have been.

It also intensifies his hate for the stepfather called Frank—if that's possible.

"At least tell me the bastard got what he deserved."

"He's still in prison. I won't say that it is what the man deserved, Leonard, because I came very close to killing him myself. But I couldn't lose my only chance to help Jim survive, to keep him here with me."

Len nods. There are so many more questions he could ask, should ask—like did Jim make us up too, this supposed triad with Spock and me? But he has had all the heartache his mind can handle right now. Leonard wants to be alone, to think—and to grieve for that child named Jimmy.

He pulls himself up out of the chair, tells Pike thank you. As his hand is on the doorknob, turning it, Pike says to Leonard, "Jim has created a world in which he can live safely, can control, and he does so. But don't assume that he fails to recognize the line between what's real and what isn't—because he does. All those things he imagines, Leonard, they are his hopes and dreams. Don't assume, either, that just because Jim desires Doctor McCoy that he doesn't want Leonard. You would be very wrong."

He cannot reply to that, nor does Pike expect him to—but he thinks of nothing else for the next hour, as he does a slow walk through the corridors of the second floor.

Just when dinner-time is closing in, Leonard sighs and steps back from the window (it's raining outside). He is turning a corner when he hears "Doctor McCoy!"

"Chekov?" Pavel is staring at him with wide anxious eyes. "What is it?"

"Don't turn around, Sir. I'm very sorry!"

Huh? "What are you bab—" There is an explosion of pain in the back of his head, and his knees buckle. He catches a glimpse of someone dropping to their knees beside him, but blackness consumes all thought thereafter.

* * *

"Perhaps you hit him too hard, Scotty." Pavel is beside the sprawled, unconscious Doctor McCoy, patting the man's back as a show of apology.

"I dinnae mean to, lad. I've never done that before!" Mr. Scott juggles the wrench in nervous hands. "Should we move him? Do you think… he's alright?"

Pavel continues his petting because it's soothing his own anxiety. "I think so. In Russia, the princess never dies before the prince rescues her."

Scotty blinks at him. "You mean she does afterward?"

"Sometimes," Chekov answers.


	8. We All Fall Down

**We All Fall Down**

* * *

"Well, McCoy, how nice to see you again."

The doctor's head is slapped to one side. Leonard blinks his eyes open, groans at the pain on the side of his face and the back of his head. He blinks again because of the blurry vision but it doesn't clear. His brain sluggishly manages to dreg up enough sense to worry—to think about head trauma (concussion, which stage?).

"Hit him again, a little more gently this time."

Well, Len supposes that the next slap (which brings him roundly to consciousness) is more gentle than the first—except to a man who's probably bleeding out the back of his head. He makes the words "Awake, okay?" a barely intelligible grunt.

It's good enough for Dr. Puri. "Mr. McCoy," the director tells him, "I do not appreciate disruption or violence in my institution."

"Excuse me?" Len asks with a gasp. There's an awful throbbing in his skull. God, he bets it's fractured somewhere.

"I suppose we were lucky that your fellow inmates—" Lord, does the man think he's running a prison? "—were able to subdue you before you caused any irreparable damage to another person."

"I di—didn't_ do_ anything. Someone h—hit me!" Len trembles when his memory bank pulls up the doe-eyed Chekov apologizing; his heart goes _why?_

Dr. Puri tilts his head, narrows his eyes and starts a low conversation with a person Leonard cannot see. He hurts too badly to concentrate. The light is bright in his eyes, sends needles of pain straight into his head. Yes, he is definitely concussed.

When Len tries to lift a hand to his forehead, he realizes he can't. "What the—" Oh shit. Oh fucking shit. Why is he in a fucking straight jacket? Panic closes in on him, and Len struggles to control himself. No panicking allowed when supporting a head-wound. Stop it, Leonard! Stop it, damn you!

He squeezes his eyes shut and counts to ten. Then again, to twenty.

"McCoy!"

"Please let me out of this thing," he asks quietly, hears the low begging tone of his voice.

"Now, Leonard," Puri says with a gentleness that isn't in his eyes, "We can't have you attacking people; this is for your own good. I want you to just stay here a while, think about how to behave properly—like a man, not an animal."

Leonard whimpers. "I've got a concussion—I need medical attention."

Why is this bastard smiling? "We're aware of your condition, son. The sooner you learn your lesson, the sooner we can treat you. Understand?"

He wants to rage about exactly what kind of cold-hearted SOB Dr. Puri is, to let a person suffer. _Doctors don't do that._ But he knows such words will only succeed in driving the nail deeper into his coffin—and Len's not ready to die. He puts on his best humble voice, despite the nausea tightening his throat, and says, "I'm sorry, Sir. I didn't mean it, I swear. I'm… sick, please, just let me go!"

Those sharp black eyes are watching him, assessing. Len hopes they can pick out the real terror ripping through him. What Dr. Puri sees must satisfy him, because he tells Leonard so. Then, however, he also informs McCoy, "While I believe you, son, I'm afraid I cannot abandon justifiable punishment. Don't worry, this is best for everyone." The pat on his restraints is not comforting at all.

Until now, Leonard has held his panic at bay. It's the heavy slam of the cell door, the darkness and quiet falling, and each final _snick _of the engaging locks that sends Leonard over the edge. He screams until he blacks out.

* * *

The usual dinner chatter is absent. Jim strides in with that little bounce in his walk, but the smile falters on his face when he notices the atmosphere. Then his heart skips a beat or two when he also discovers that neither Spock nor Bones are present.

Jim settles between Scotty and Sulu. "Hey, crew. What's going on?"

No one answers him, and Pavel's got his eyes pinned to the vegetables on his tray, slowly picks up a piece of broccoli with his fork. That alarms Kirk plenty because Chekov hates vegetables. He watches as the kid actually puts it in his mouth and freaking _chews_ it.

That means only one thing: Chekov feels guilty. The Russian doesn't force himself to eat anything leafy or green unless he has done something that requires a serious reprimand.

Jim tries, "Where's Spock and Bones?"

Sulu hunches down and arranges his three butter knives into a triangle. Jim stares at it for too long before swallowing.

"Jim."

A bit of relief melts the cold ice gripping his insides. "Spock!" Jim turns and jumps up from the table. Then he sees Spock's expression. "What's the matter?"

"Doctor McCoy has been placed under arrest by the Klingons."

The world stops. Those words sink like stones to the bottom of the man's soul. Spock gives his Captain a full measured look of half-worry/half-pain. He is sending a very Human message: _Jim, what are we going to do?_

Just like that, Jim stops being Jimmy—the boy of a thousand wishes and too much careless adventuring. He isn't James T. Kirk—son of a dead farmer and a name on a medical record locked in Pike's office cabinet.

He is Captain.

And Bones needs him.

* * *

Uhura watches the Captain go rigid after Spock's announcement. Then, not a few seconds later, he spins on his heel and snarls at his crew, "With me!"

Everyone scrambles out of their seats at the snap-command. Captain Kirk is across the cafeteria at a rapid pace, Spock matching his stride. She hangs back to take one last, long look at the natural congruency of the two officers, side-by-side, on a mission to save a man very precious to them both. It's so amazingly _right_, something her heart knew but her brain couldn't previously accept, that the lingering jealous dissipates without a fight.

Uhura catches up, lays a hand on the arm of Mr. Scott and gives him her best reassuring smile.

Doctor McCoy will be home before dawn.

* * *

"Explain, Mr. Spock," the Captain commands.

"At 1845, after the Doctor's failure to return to our quarters, I inquired, of Admiral Pike, the Doctor's whereabouts. Doctor McCoy engaged in conversation with the Admiral this afternoon."

Spock offers no further on information on why McCoy would be talking to Pike, and Jim has neither the time nor desire to contemplate that question. Rescue Bones—it's all that matters to him.

"Proceed," he tells his First Officer when Spock is silent for more than ten seconds.

"At such time, in the Admiral's office, he received a call in my presence from the High Chancellor of the Klingons. I was able to deduce, from the amount of conversation to which I was privy, that Doctor McCoy has been incarcerated on the charges of assault and intent to harm."

Kirk rounds on Spock. "Impossible!"

"Highly unlikely, Captain, but I agree with your sentiment."

The rest of his crew has halted as well, but at some distance. Kirk goes cold, suddenly, as he stares into each of their faces—notes the sweat on Scotty's brow, the way Sulu's eyes dart from Chekov to the floor and back. Only Uhura looks calm.

There isn't a moment to lose, to help Bones, but he has to say, quite simply, "You knew." Chekov makes a small whimper of apology.

Kirk's face goes blank (shuts down), from habit. Never show weakness to the enemy.

"You knew before Pike and Spock, didn't you? Which means that you were involved."

"Captain—" Scotty breaks their silence, but Kirk raises his hand to halt any forthcoming words.

"I do not want to hear an explanation. Just know this: if—in even the smallest way—you contributed to Doctor McCoy's situation, you have betrayed me."

Chekov's eyes are filling but there is no room for sympathy in Jim to be moved by tears.

"Dismissed," he tells them.

"Captain!" Uhura gasps. "You need us! What about—"

"No!" he snaps, his patience gone and his anger terrible. "You won't come within one foot of Bones again!"

They utter shocked, hurt _Captain!_'s but he reiterates, implacable, "Dismissed!"

The stunned crew is left behind. When the Captain and First Officer enter the stairwell, Jim sags for moment against the icy-cold concrete.

"Captain?" The caution in Spock's voice makes him wince.

"Sorry, Spock. I—just didn't ever think that they—that my crew…" He pushes off the wall and pulls himself together—stuffs the distracting emotion away.

Spock reaches out, briefly and lightly touches him. "Jim, your pain is understandable but I must ask that you grant a fair trial before judgment is passed."

He nods. "After, Spock. After we get Bones back."

"Agreed."

* * *

If Leonard wasn't entirely crazy before, he is now. He wakes up intermittently, remembers where he is—that he cannot move—and wishes to sink back into oblivion.

So this is Isolation. Somehow, it just doesn't compare to the movies; it's worse. A fucking padded call—covered in thick rough cloth, dirty in a way that Len doesn't want to contemplate—with one flickering (half-gone) light embedded into the ceiling, too high up. Does it stay on all night? Even if he could reach it, what would Len do, bound as he is?

He imagines biting the wires with his teeth. (Quick escape route, at least.)

The flickering of the light makes dancing shapes on the walls. Not that his mind is in any shape to filter out such distortion—or understand it. Damn, his head hurts.

Leonard chuckles darkly to himself. What a sight he must be, moaning like this and curled up on the floor. A pathetic creature of a man, probably soon enough reduced to gibbering and drooling.

When he is awake and aware, he talks about the medical procedure for treating a mid-grade concussion. Over and over again, repeating the textbook material, because Leonard is fully cognizant that someone has to be nearby and watching his cell. (Maybe waiting for a psychological break?) Well, damned if he's going to let them forget that he is injured.

So he talks, not to himself, but to the world at large—and the orderlies down the hall—about symptoms (which he has) and how to check the cranial pressure without causing further damage, what kind of medication is best prescribed for an adult without other notable medical conditions, so on and so forth.

It soothes a mind reminiscent of a trapped butterfly beating against glass.

It keeps him, not calm precisely, but at least rational about his predicament.

Good Lord, how he wants out! And if they knew how desperate he was, deep down, what he'd be willing to do to get released from this pit in Hell… It makes him ashamed.

He keeps talking, the black-outs lessening in frequency (a miracle, considering his injury), all the while praying in the privacy of his heart for salvation.

It sounds something like "Jim, Spock, please, get me outta this and I swear to God I'll be the best little wife this side of the Mississippi. _Please!_"

* * *

"Don't cry, Pavel," Sulu pets his roommate anxiously. "The Captain didn't mean it."

"But he did!" wails the navigator.

Scotty turns to Uhura. "Fix it, Nyota."

"But I—"

"Damn you, lassie! If we don't cap the pipe, it'll just keep flooding!"

Uhura bites down on her lower lip to keep it from trembling. She spins around and heads down the corridor—swipes at her eyes when no one can see her face.

Pike is in his office with his head in his hands when Uhura barges in. "Admiral, it's my fault!"

"Nyota, what? Hey, calm down."

"It's my fault," she tells him. "I made up the whole plan and Scotty and the others were just doing what I told them to!"

Pike puts his hands on her shoulders and says, in a steel-toned voice, "Calm down. Now."

A command to follow. She breathes through her nose several times and wipes at her eyes with the back of her hand. "Yes, Sir."

"Good. Now what is it that you did, Nyota?"

"I came up with a plan so that the Captain could rescue the Doctor but—" Her heart constricts painfully. "— but now Captain's mad and we're not going to be a crew _anymore_—and I don't know what to do if I can't be in the Captain's crew!" The last part ends in a keen despite her best efforts to act like a brave officer. (_Jim's dismissed them—all of them._)

Pike pushes her into a chair and orders, "Sit. Don't move."

She nods, licking at the tears on her lips.

He picks up the phone, punches in a number with vicious jabs. The signal is busy, even Uhura can hear it from across the room. It's a monotonous, terrifying steady beep.

The Admiral is at his door in a flash, tells her, "I want you to get all involved and meet me at the elevator. Can you do that?"

"Yes, Sir." He's gone, then, and Uhura picks herself up as best she can.

**

* * *

**

I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but there's only two chapters left. Sorry!


	9. Naught But Us

**Naught But Us**

* * *

Eventually Leonard's voice grew strained and he had to stop. Left in the deafening silence, with a monstrous headache and shredded nerves, the doctor lets his mind wander. Perhaps, at some point, he drops into a despondent sleep because Leonard finds himself in a place that cannot possibly be real.

It's a house—a large, gorgeous three-story home with a wrap-around porch. Leonard opens his eyes to the rocking of the swing beneath him. He blinks at the sunlight on the grass in the yard beyond and his brain says that the air is fresh. There's a giggle to his left and he catches the glint of blonde hair along the edge of the porch.

"Hey there." Len keeps his voice quiet.

A cute little girl peeks over the edge with dirty hands and mischievous twinkling eyes. "I see you, Daddy!" she tells him before scampering off into the yard.

If Leonard had thought _peace at last_, then he is sorely mistaken. Inside his chest, there is a familiar ache for a wish he will never have.

The staccato _click-click _of heels raps along the wooden porch but Leonard doesn't have the heart to look up. Someone settles beside him on the swing. From the corner of his eye, he can see neatly shaped pink nails in an aproned lap. "Hello, Leo." He shudders at the sound of that voice.

"Jocelyn."

She settles against the back-boards, crossing her lovely legs. The outfit on Joce is wrong, Len thinks, because she hated long dresses and simple patterns.

"This isn't real," he tells her.

"Yes," she agrees. Finding a meager scrap of courage, he looks at her face, studies the soft smile playing on those pink lips. (The color is a match.)

"So I'm just torturing myself."

"Yes."

Wonderful. Bad enough to tortured by others; now Len's brain is purposefully screwing with him. Why?

"This is what you wanted one day, Leonard. This is what you wanted from me—a warm home and a beautiful child."

Yes, he did; though Leonard never dared bring it up with Jocelyn because the one time he mentioned it (hopeful), she stared at him like he was a stranger. _You're going to be a doctor, Leo_, she told him. _And I'll be a lawyer; we'll live in the kind of society that we should have been privileged to! That's what we want, Leonard._

"It was a dream," the woman with Jocelyn's face says. "A foolish dream."

He shoves fingers through his hair, head hanging in tired resignation. A hand comes to rest on his thigh, squeezes it. He takes the hand into his own, runs his thumb along the knuckles.

"So I'm telling myself to let go, huh?"

"Yeah, Bones, you are."

His head snaps up and he stares at the Jocelyn-now-turned-Jim.

"Jimmy?" Those blue eyes (like the backdrop of the bright sky) are smiling at him with compassion. "Why are you here?"

"I'm always here with you." He taps Len's forehead with his other hand—the one which Len isn't clinging to, has forgotten to release.

"And Spock?"

"Present also, Leonard."

He had assumed that stretching shadow on his right was a porch column. He finally notices that no part of the house casts a shadow; only Leonard does, Jim too, and that third that he had failed to see, overlapping the two upon the white-wash of the porch.

First Jocelyn tells him he's been living in fantasyland too long—that Len can accept. Maybe it is time to start the healing process. But why in the name of Hell are Jim and Spock on his mind? Why—

"Bones."

Why should they be here? Why does he want them with him?

_Bones!_

Is he actually considering their offer?

_BONES!_

"What!" he snaps, but the word doesn't come out as satisfactorily loud as he wants. He wakes up on the floor of his padded cell.

"Bones, can you hear me?"

Holy shit, Jim?

"Jim!" Len struggles in the straight-jacket for a moment before he gives up and rolls onto his knees. "Jim, you'd better get me out of here _right now _or so help me, God, ya'll haven't seen CRAZY!" Again, he doesn't think he's as menacing as he hopes; his voice is pathetically weak.

There are mumbled words like "Spock, did you get—" and that wonderful solid "Affirmative." Shit, it_ is_ Jim and Spock. He wonders if he kisses them, they'll take it as more than the happiness of a freed man.

Leonard ignores the protest of his brain sloshing around in his head as he stands up. Stupid concussion, stupid jacket, stupid…

"Bones, just hold on, okay? Spock's got the ring of keys but we need just a minute—"

He leans against the door. How strange, this tingling at the sound of Jim's voice so close. If only… "Spock? Spock, can you say something?"

"What do you require me to say, Doctor?"

"Nevermind, that's all I needed to hear." He smiles at the thought of Spock trying to puzzle out his words.

"Okay, just—Hey—I think this is—"

Leonard's ears pick up a muted (angry) shout in the background and just as his stomach drops, Spock says, "Captain, the Klingon that escaped has returned with reinforcements."

Oh God. "Jim," Leonard calls with urgency. "Jim, just forget about me; you and Spock get the Hell away from here!"

"No way, Bones."

"Yes way, you damn fool! Jim? JIM, LISTEN TO ME—" That crazy blond-haired maniac shouts, then, but it isn't at the doctor, he knows. There is a sharp "Captain!" from Spock and then the sound of them are drowned in a hulabuloo of noise.

Leonard jumps back as something large slams into the metal door. Fuck fuck fuck! "Jim!" he yells. "Spock!" Goddamn it, if he could only rip this stupid jacket off! Len stumbles back into a padded wall and lets out a frustrated yell. He can't stand to listen to the fighting, not knowing, not being able to help.

If only there were a way!

He spins at the clear warning of locks being disengaged on his door. Leonard leaps forward, about fall into the person opening the door when it swings backward (barely misses the side of his body) and someone smacks into _him_. They go tumbling down, and Len's vision darks momentarily to gray even though he manages to twist and fall on his shoulder, to keep his head off the floor.

His sight clears in time to see Spock shoved into the cell and the highlight of a terribly familiar figure. Hatred swells in Leonard.

"You fucking bastard!" he spits between groans.

"Don't say I never did anything for you, McCoy. Now you've got company. Enjoy." The door swings shut again and, at least, Len cannot see that sick smile on Puri's face.

"Jim?" he whispers. "Spock? Can you check on Jim? I can't—"

The Vulcan reaches under Len first and sits him up. Spock stares at him for a second before turning to Kirk. He rolls the man onto his back. Jim's out cold, his jaw starting to swell.

"Help me outta this thing so I can look at him."

Spock undoes the buckles along his back and sides. As soon as the sleeves go slack and Len can unwrap his arms, he shudders with relief. "Thank you, Spock," he says quietly. Long fingers rub the back of his neck briefly, then disappear up into his hair.

"You are injured." How can a man sound so grave?

"S'alright, Spock. It's getting better," he lies.

Spock, thank God, doesn't argue with him. Len knows he cannot handle anger right now. He bends over Kirk and runs his fingers along the side of his face, probing. "Did Jim strike his head?"

"I do not know."

McCoy checks for bumps, feeling around the back of his skull. "Seems okay to me. That's good. We don't need two out of three with head-trauma. That sets the odds against us."

"Leonard," Spock is solemn, "the likelihood of our escape is—"

"—slim. Yeah, I know, but a man can hope." Leonard did hope; he hoped for Jim and Spock and now he's got them both… with him in Hell. Perhaps it's time to re-evaluate what he wishes for.

* * *

Pike is about to skip waiting on the director and break McCoy out of Isolation himself—consequences be damned. That Jim and Spock are not with the group of sad-faced patients makes him take deep breaths. Because neither man plays by the rules and Chris has a fairly good idea what they're up to. He just hopes that he can fix this mess in time.

"Tell Dr. Puri—" Pike is cut off from his instructions to the secretary when the director's voice floats over his shoulder.

"You wanted to see me, Pike?"

"Dr. Puri, yes. We've made a serious mistake." He knows better than to say _you did_, because Puri easily takes offense.

"In what way? No—let's discuss this in my office. With me, Pike."

Pike lets Dr. Puri proceed ahead of him, and Chris quietly motions his pack of—well, Jim's crew, he supposes—to follow. The secretary just gapes as he leads four mentally deranged people in the office labeled Director of Fleet Heights. Puri turns around too late, as Scotty closes the door and announces "Klingon Ambassador, Sir, you've captured the wrong man. I'm the one ye be lookin' for!"

Pike tries to shush the upset denials from Scotty's friends.

"Pike, what is this? Do you understand how many regulations you've broken, by allowing these—"

"—patients," Pike says with a warning in his tone. "I am fully aware of my actions, Puri, make no mistake of that."

Puri looks disgusted as he takes a seat behind his desk. "I hope, for the sake of your job, that the reason is sufficient."

Chris tells him, "Leonard McCoy does not belong in Isolation."

"Oh?" Puri's eyebrow goes up with interest though Pike knows from experience that this rat of a man couldn't care less about the patients of Fleet Heights. He's in the job for the money and the power he can have over others, weakened by illness. Well, Pike's not ill and he's had enough of Puri's games.

"McCoy attacked no one."

"That's right," Scotty interrupts. "'Twas me, Sir."

"I told him to!" Uhura wails as she clutches Scotty as if the man might be dragged away at any moment.

"And who's to say that one of your… patients isn't lying, Pike?"

"I hit him! I hit him!" Scotty pushes to the front and leans over the desk. Puri draws back like the man is a leper.

Pike pulls Scotty away, turns him around. "What? You hit McCoy?" The man nods, his head down with shame.

"On the head, Admiral, wid one of me tools."

Pike turns on the director. "Why is McCoy in Isolation if he's injured?"

"I have no knowledge of the matter; besides, the warden of Isolation would have notified me, and McCoy would have been taken straight to the resident nurse, I'm sure."

The man's lying through his teeth. Pike lets his gaze bore into Puri's. "Of course, Sir. You understand that I will have to check on McCoy myself, to verify the situation."

It's a snake's smile that Puri gives him. "Certainly. Be my guest, Christopher. If, for any reason, you find fault with McCoy's treatment, please feel free to discuss the matter with me. I try to provide the best care for our residents here at Fleet Heights."

Pike nods, expressionless, and snaps to the crew, "Retreat."

Thankfully, they give him no argument or struggle, filing out the director's office. Pike herds them to the elevator, but does not call it as the pager on his hip gives a sharp little buzz. So he waits, there in the hallway; they all do—Pike and the Captain's crew—for five minutes in which Pike lays a calming hand on whoever starts fidgeting. The secretary pretends to ignore them but she takes small peeks at the odd group as she shuffles papers on her desk.

Five minutes until Puri comes out of his office, stops at the sight of Christopher Pike and four blinking, pajama-clad people under his command.

"Pike, what are you doing?"

"Waiting."

"For me? Did you have another matter—"

"No, not for you." The elevator dings—like a gift from a god with a perfect sense of timing. Pike greets the newcomer. "Puri, you remember Doctor Phillip Boyce, don't you?"

Puri's eyes are switching back and forth between Pike and Boyce. He says, "It's an honor, Doctor Boyce, to have you here. I was unaware that you rescheduled your yearly visit—"

"Oh, this is an unannounced call, Dr. Puri," Boyce tells him. "Chris asked me to come around to check on Jimmy and his friends."

Pike smiles at Dr. Puri, for the first time in years.

"James Kirk?" The director's face is rapidly losing color.

"Sure. Bright kid and always into trouble like his godfather!" Boyce pats Pike's shoulder with a friendly hand. "You know, Chris, you still owe me a game of golf."

"To be reconciled, Phil, I promise. But Jim's having a bit of a time today."

"Oh?" There is no surprise in Boyce's face. Puri is the one (sane) person present who seems shocked.

"Yes. I'm afraid he's in Isolation." Pike doesn't need to see Puri's face to confirm his suspicions.

Boyce is already pushing the button to the elevator. "Well, that just won't do." Phil Boyce motions Dr. Puri to come up the front of the crowd, and then turns to the wide-eyed Chekov who has crept very close to the man's side. "Hello there, son. I don't believe I've meet you. You are…?"

"Lieutenant-Commander Pavel Chekov, Sir! Navigator on the Captain's Enterprise!"

"Well met, Lieutenant Chekov." Boyce pulls the kid's hand from salute position and shakes it firmly. "I am Doctor Boyce, from the Department of Mental Health in Georgia. You're serving under a fine Captain, Chekov."

"We know, Sir!"

The elevator dings. Pike waves over the secretary—who has been gaping from around the corner of filing cabinet. "Watch them," he tells her and ushers Dr. Puri into the elevator with Boyce.

"But, Mr.—" The door closes on whatever plea the woman was about to make. While Pike hopes that Uhura, Sulu, Chekov and Scotty will be okay, he has to focus on the other three under his supervision, who take priority at the moment.

Dr. Puri is sweating and not attempting small talk with Boyce in the least. On that score, Chris can be proud. He and Boyce have been building a case against Puri for a long time. He only wishes that it didn't have to culminate like this, at the expense of three innocent minds.

* * *

Jim wakes up to a hand stroking his hair. He turns his head, sees Bones with arms wrapped around a bent knee; he has the grumpiest scowl Jim has seen yet-to-date.

Jim rolls his head back into position and blinks up at the dark eyes watching him. "Hey, Spock," he says. "Thanks."

The hand ceases movement, which makes Jim frown. "You are welcome, Jim. My mother believed one may calm another through a simple gesture of physical contact; after careful study, I must conclude that she was correct."

Jim smiles. Spock rarely discusses his family, in particular his mother. Jim only knows that she died when Spock was a teenager and that he loved her very much. He pictures a young Spock comforted within the arms of a dark-haired woman, perhaps in the wake of a nightmare. (Jim thinks of his own mother, then, rocking him in the hospital during the bad periods.)

"How do you feel, Jim?" He turns his attention back to the present, to Bones.

"Are you okay, Bones?"

"I asked first."

He likes Spock's lap, feels pretty comfortable. Why bother testing the annoying aches and pains? Instead Jim answers, "My jaw hurts like I got punched... which I did punched so..."

Ah, there's that loveable snort of disbelief. Surely Bones knows by now that Jim is perfectly capable of joking about his own injuries. (Better to laugh than cry, right?)

"Any effect on your vision, intense pain, or—"

"—nausea?" he finishes. "No, I didn't whack my head, Bones. I'm fine, really."

"The Doctor has such symptoms, Captain."

Jim sits up immediately. "They hurt you!" Oh those mother-fuckers! He reaches for Bones before his brain goes _No!_ and reminds him why touching is a bad idea. (Because McCoy takes it as a bad idea; that truth still hurts Jim, much more than his sore jaw.)

Bones groans, but it's with exasperation and not pain. "Spock, you tattle-tell. All you're gonna do is raise the kid's blood pressure—not to mention mine! Besides," he looks at Jim, "it wasn't Puri's goons—it was yours, Jim."

He swallows, asks in a rough voice, "Which one?" Oh, that betrayal is sharply painful too, like a knife twisting in his heart.

"Don't know. Chekov warned me and apologized, I think, but whoever clobbered me did it from behind." Bones' voice goes quiet at the end.

"I—I'm sorry, Bones. I never wanted you to get hurt. I didn't think..."

"That's right, Jim, you don't think."

The knife drives a little deeper.

Spock interrupts with "Doctor." His tone is warning enough, but Jim assures him, "It's okay, Spock. Bones is right."

McCoy sighs (probably at them both). "Look, what I mean is, you have to understand that your crew won't react as expected."

Oh, Jim knows that; he loves that about his crew—their wildness, difference; it's like a swirl of color in an otherwise black and white world.

"They're going to do crazy shit and people can get hurt, like me, because they don't know better. I imagine that they thought they were helping—" Bones gestures at his head with a grimace. "—for whatever cockamamie reason. It probably wasn't malicious, just dumb."

Is he serious? "You're in a padded cell—" Jim glances around for the first time, realizes, _we're in a padded cell _and tries to shove down a sudden rush of bad memories. "—with a concussion, and you're saying I should forgive them for doing this to you?"

The doctor laughs lowly. "Oh, I'm pissed, never fear. I want to blame them, Jim, I really do. But somehow, I don't think I'm going to be able to. Just don't expect me to sleep with both eyes closed ever again."

"I'm sorry."

"If you apologize one more time, you_ are_ going to have a concussion," the doctor grumps.

Jim cannot help himself. "Sorry." He doesn't even have to pull back to avoid the half-hearted swat. It's easier to ignore the looming walls and locked door if he keeps talking, or they talk to him. Jim settles himself between the pair—his Vulcan and his Doctor—and wipes sweaty palms on his pants.

"Jim, are you ill?"

Good ol' Spock, ever observant.

"No," he says, throwing the Vulcan a quick grin.

When McCoy takes his wrist in hand, it's like an electric jolt. (Bones is touching him.) "What're you doing?"

"Checking your pulse, stupid."

Jim doubts the man needs to do that when his heartbeat sounds so loud to his own ears.

"Your diagnosis, Doctor?"

Wait, what? "Okay, enough play-time, boys. I'm the Captain and I say we need to focus on an escape plan."

"Sure, Jim; let me know when you come up with something brilliant that won't get us killed. In the meantime, I want you to focus on breathing deeply through your nose."

Maybe that's not such a bad idea, because he does feel a little out of breath. "You're the doctor, Doctor." That doesn't come out as funny as he'd planned, not in his thick voice.

"Jim, don't worry, you won't be in here long." Bones is patting his hand. It feels surreal. (Jim's body is not shivering, not at all.) "Spock and I are here, right here with you." Why is Bones talking to him like that, so quietly? It sounds like—

"I'm not crazy," he tells them. "And this is real."

"Yep," Bones agrees. "Very real. Trust me, the brains leaking out my ears are definitely saying this is real."

Jim's eyes pop open, and he flicks his eyes over Bones' face. "Don't tease me like that!"

McCoy doesn't look repentant in the least—or sound it either—when he grins and says, "That's better."

Something inside Jim settles, fits back into place. There is a period of comfortable silence, in which Jim leans his head back and listens to both men breathe on either of him. It's reassuring, to know he's not alone. (Or that he's not imagining them, like before.) Then, for some strange reason, the words just start tumbling out his mouth.

"It was like this, in Iowa." He cannot say _in the silo _because his brain fills with images that terrify him. (They didn't stay in Iowa long, after Frank was taken away.) "I'd picture the two of you, just like this. We were best friends, you know."

A shoulder shifts by his, touching.

"When I was still a kid, we were friends." He smiles, "Captain Kirk and his two trusty sidekicks."

"I'm not a sidekick," Bones grunts.

"I think I even imagined you saying that to me, Bones," Jim says with a hint of secret delight. "Though I'm not sure I ever pictured you this irritable."

"That's what happens, Jim. You get the unexpected."

Jim makes a split-second decision. He pulls the doctor's fingers from his wrist (Bones forgot to let go, and Jim wasn't about to remind him) and locks them into his own. "I got something better. I got you."

Too close to a truth, he knows, that Leonard McCoy cannot handle yet. So Jim turns his head to Spock. "And you were the brainy one, Spock."

"I bet he wasn't a Vulcan," Bones adds.

"Nope, but I think I like having a Vulcan partner."

"It is my pleasure to please you, Captain."

"Much thanks, Mr. Spock."

"Jim." There's a tug on his fingers.

"Hmmm?"

"Why didn't we stay your best friends?"

The answer is simple, really. One in which he feels no shame. "I grew up, and I was here at Fleet Heights. I was lonely." One day the fantasy just changed; it was rather easy, smooth almost, the transistion from friends to lovers.

"And having just one didn't suit you?" How can Bones make a question sound so gentle?

"No," he tells the man. "I loved you both—and I couldn't give up either of you."

Bones turns slowly on his side; his eyes are very sad, it makes Jim want to hold him until the sadness passes. "Jim—" He loves the way Bones says his name, different than Spock, but just as right. "—I am not a fantasy lover," the doctor tells him. "I am a real man."

Jim wants to kiss him, but doesn't. "I know. For that I'm grateful."

"I just don't think I can be what you imagine I am."

"Do you think that Spock is what I imagine him to be? Spock?" He reaches up and runs a hand along Spock's jaw. "What were the results of your last mental health evaluation?"

Spock quotes: "Submersive schizophrenia, most notably characterized by patient's augmented delusional state and emotional disassociation."

"And what does that mean?" Jim asks him to clarify.

Spock blinks. "I am Vulcan."

"Precisely." Jim kisses Spock with his fingertips in proper Vulcan fashion. "I imagine you to be just what you are." Jim smiles back at McCoy. "I'm nothing, if not adaptive, Bones."

"You mean, you'll take us as you can get us."

"No, I mean I'll put up with your mood swings, Bones, because it's part of the package deal. You don't have to be someone you aren't."

Bones closes his eyes and says, "Keep on convincing me, Jim."

"Okay. How about the saying… Two is better than one, and three is better than two!"

"I think you tacked on something there."

"But it works, right?"

"Maybe."

"Spock, help me out here."

"The Doctor and I have spoken on this matter; Leonard is aware of the facts."

"Facts! Why, you arrogant, green-blooded—"

_Bang-bang!_ Bones is cut-off mid-rebuttal and Jim wiggles out from his position between Spock and McCoy. They all hear the loud "Jim!"

A strange sense of déjà-vu washes over Kirk. He recalls the voice, half-weeping his name (_Jimmy_), soft and choked; it woke him up from his dream, to the world, that voice; and it was a man's strong arms (Chris's) that carried his dry, brittle body from the sweltering darkness and rotting grain into the sunlight. He can almost remember and not hurt, sometimes, from the remembering. The cell door swings open, and Jim smiles. This time, when he leaves his prison behind, he has more than just the fragments of a strong desire—something more precious than a glorious starship, the name Captain and a faint ring of cheering from millions of voices across the galaxy.

He has two real, flesh-and-blood hands in his own.

**

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Who wants the epilogue? :D


	10. Epilogue

**Epilogue **

* * *

Puri is sick (and foolish) enough to have kept the security footage of his "discipline methods" for the unfortunate patients of Fleet Heights. Pike barely watches one or two minutes of a session before he's sickened beyond belief. McCoy was lucky that Uhura came forward with the truth so soon; otherwise, his captivity in Isolation would have been only the beginning of a nightmare.

Boyce ensures that the shit hits the fan. The scandal is huge; it rocks the media like a shockwave, causing in an influx of reporters and frightened family members of the patients. Many people demand that their child, sibling, or friend be removed to a "safer" environment. Pike spends a majority of the next two weeks between attending the preliminary trial hearings, sidestepping nosy phone calls, and soothing upset patients.

Doctor Puri won't see the inside of any mental institution again; he'll only have the four walls of whatever prison they put him in, though Chris is fairly sure he will be wheeling-and-dealing with his inmates soon enough; Dr. Puri is not certifiably insane (though wouldn't that be ironic?) nor a killer (they cannot link him to any outright deaths, only insinuate his involvement). Chances are that he will end up in a white-collar, low-security facility with other rich sadistic bastards like him. Puri has a good lawyer—not talented enough to pull off a plea of Not Guilty but apt at spinning a story that will soften the accusations of Puri's criminal (vile) treatment of other human beings.

The justice system isn't perfect because it is run by imperfect people; such is life. There's a brief moment when Chris dreams of vigilante justice but, as with Frank, he knows that, while it would save the world from one more evil, it's these people under his care that need what help he can provide. So Pike keeps his gun locked away in the safe of his condo and his clear-headed anger to himself. He opts for fixing the mess that has become Fleet Heights, restores order and trust.

…Such as now:

"Our son is a good man! If you people have been blind all these years—" The woman wipes at her eyes and blows her nose. "—to that monster of a director—"

"Mrs. Scott, I assure you that… Monty—" He needs a minute to remember how they address Scotty. "—is safe with me. Fleet Heights has chosen a new director, a prestigious psychologist from up North. I would be glad to schedule an appointment for you to meet him personally." Poor M'Benga; the new director has no idea the kind of chaos he'll be stepping into!

Mrs. Scott clutches at her husband's hands. Pike has sympathy for them, he truly does. But he also knows, better than they, how much Scotty needs to be part of the Captain's crew. Before Jim, he had only one friend—Keenser—and no one else. Jim broke through his self-imposed isolation, talked Pike into "ignoring" the man's frequent journeys to the basement to "work on the engines." Yes, to the outside world, it would be succoring a man's illness; but Scotty is happy and as whole as he can be, with real friends who accept him (and his beloved Keenser).

He also knows that the new director, Dr. Geoffrey M'Benga, will understand too. After the media caught wind of the story—and the inhumane crime therein—the Board for Fleet Heights was inundated with nationwide offers for Puri's replacement; they have interviewed each carefully and extensively. M'Benga has done excellent work on alternative (intuitive) methods for handling the mentally ill; Pike believes that he will not only brings an open-mind but a compassionate heart to Fleet Heights. Director is a fantastic job for a man retiring from the practice but who wants to remain connected to the field. Chris had to fight very hard to suppress a belly laugh when M'Benga hinted that he didn't mind a little rowdiness—because that poor man won't know which way is up two-weeks into the job.

With the Scott family eventually persuaded to leave their son here for the time-being (and perhaps longer, he hopes), Pike takes a walk along his floor. He watches Scotty hug his parents and then introduce them to the Captain; Jim, of course, switches his charm to high voltage. Chris smiles knowingly. If Pike cannot entirely sooth their worries, no doubt that Jim will take care of the rest. Before long, they'll be thanking the Captain for watching over dear Monty, and Mrs. Scott will offer to bring homemade cookies on their next visit. (Such is life with Jim.)

He nods to Kirk as he passes by and the Captain winks back. Pike returns to his office and settles in for the next round of appointments.

* * *

_A little while later…_

"Jim, Goddamn it! I can put on my own pants!"

Jim's lower lip protrudes in a pout as he shakes out the pair of soft white pants from Leonard's dresser drawer. "Did I mention how much I like—"

"—groping my ass while you _help _me? Don't even get me started, kid. You need to keep your wandering hands to yourself."

"But Bones!"

"It's been three weeks. A concussion doesn't affect the functioning of my hands!" Leonard is thinking up a long list of unflattering names for James T. Kirk. (And nope, that pout is not working on him in the least.) He adds, "If you keep driving me crazy, you can forget sleeping on my bed. Bunk with Spock."

Jim bats his eyelashes and says sweetly, "You _are _crazy."

"And you're a fucking moron. Spock!"

Spock refuses to get involved in these little spats between Kirk and McCoy. Okay, well maybe they're one-sided spats (mostly from Len's side, that is); but what's the point of having a third person if that insufferable third won't mediate? "Be useful and tell Jim to mind the time-frame."

"Jim," Spock intones, still hunched over his desk fiddling with wires. "Please mind the time-frame." So obviously the Vulcan doesn't give a fig if Jim likes to slip in inappropriate prodding under the lunch table. One time, Len almost sprayed Sulu's knife collection (definitely NOT something to do) when those fingers wandered too close to home. Oh, Jim got the bitching of his life after that; Leonard wanted to spank him too, for good measure, but the way the Captain quickly presented himself for punishment nullified that idea.

"What do I get if I do?" Jim likes to make deals. Damn his soul, Len isn't playing along!

"To keep your naughty bits intact," Leonard shoots back at the same time Spock answers, "Leonard will agree to attach his bed to mine and thus create a more harmonic sleeping arrangement."

What? "No I won't!"

But Jim's already excited and ushering Leonard out of the way to strip Len's bed. He watches, open-mouthed, as his single little cot is pushed to the other side of the room and hits Spock's frame with a resolute smack of metal.

Jim turns to him and says, "Deal." Spock, the conniving bastard, has already gone back to his toys.

Leonard sighs. Apparently when Len said, "Okay, I'll try," he opened a fucking floodgate and nothing short of God is going to close it back up. Jim (mostly) adheres to their agreed-upon plan for "courting"—which Len is using to his full advantage. He even designated Pike as chaperone. (That made Jim agitated and Len very happy; Spock was amused.)

So Jim and Spock get to hang around Leonard (as if they didn't before), alternate between which two share a bed at night, but no one's allowed to third-base until Christmas. Len recalls, with an eye-roll, that Jim immediately put up a large hand-drawn calendar in their room that has a bright yellow (funny-looking) smiley face with a Jim-haircut and a sailor's hat smack-dab on Christmas Eve. Sometimes Len eyes that date with trepidation and no small amount of butterflies in his stomach.

But he has time to get used to the idea, to the sweet nothings Jim likes to whisper in his ear before they drift off to sleep, or the bright Vulcan eyes that trail after him in the early mornings. So maybe this isn't how Leonard McCoy pictured himself but it's not so bad either.

Jim and Spock are really rather sweet—if you discount the kind of loopy conversations that the three have. Or the childish way that Jim longs for a Superman cape—though Len insists starship Captains don't wear capes. (Spock agrees, thank God.) Or how Spock adds a new ability to his persona every once and while; just last week Jim said quietly to Len, under the blanket pulled over their heads, "I think Spock needs a friendly hug" to which the Vulcan replied as he exited their room, "A Vulcan's hearing is superior to that of Humans," meaning _I heard that_. Later, Jim tackled Spock and kissed the tiny points of his ears. (Spock's ears are growing on Len, slowly but surely.)

Of course, Len cannot claim that he's perfect; certainly not. Spock and he do not see eye-to-eye on what qualifies as emotional excess; Jim doesn't understand why Leonard won't sign the petition for official Enterprise uniforms in the colors of gold, red, and blue.

In the end, it doesn't matter that they are not perfect little puzzle pieces to a bigger picture. The give-and-take of their personalities seems to match; their hopes and dreams—he discovers—overlap in the oddest ways. It's the closest Leonard has felt to others in a long time (since Jocelyn said goodbye), and the pain of what-could-have-been gradually fades as Jim and Spock tell him about what-can-be.

Leonard McCoy used to wonder if there would come a time when he'd be ready to go home; now, on the nights when he has a long arm wrapped around his middle or a stubbly cheek pressed between his shoulder blades, he thinks that he is where he needs to be. That, perhaps, this is home enough for a man who wants acceptance, who wants love.

He begins to believe.

* * *

The Vulcan takes careful survey of the scene. His Captain is standing on the cafeteria table in the middle of a rousing speech to his crew. The Doctor stands below with a fist full of the Captain's pants leg as if he prevents the Human from falling off the edge of a cliff. After observing the short distance between the end of the table and the Captain's bare feet, Spock decides that Leonard's worry is most likely well-founded.

Spock approves of Kirk's announcement: "…and so I present to you, my fellow men—and women—" Jim winks at Uhura. "—the President of the Federation, Doctor M'Benga! Geoff, please, take a bow."

The new Director of Fleet Heights halts in his low conversation with Admiral Pike and looks over to the man on the table. The ensuing cheers from the crowd (and Chekov's insistent, "Mr. President, Sir, Mr. President! Hello!") appear to startle M'Benga, but he recovers and graciously smiles at everyone. The President replies, "Why, thank you… Captain Kirk. Your welcome is appreciated. May the… dealings between the Federation and—" Spock's enhanced hearing picks up Pike's helpful tip to M'Benga. "—Starfleet be prosperous for the good of our… galaxy."

Jim jumps down from the table (despite McCoy's sharp "Jim, be careful, you fool!") and strides over to M'Benga. Spock steps up to the Captain's right side and he is pleased when Leonard slides into position on Jim's left. Spock knows, without a doubt, that Uhura will herd the rest of the crew into a half-circle behind the three officers.

Kirk has his widest (most trouble-attracting) smile in place as he informs the newcomer, "Mr. President, we are honored to have you represent our cause."

"Thank you, Captain." The President blinks in the face of Jim's enthusiasm. Spock estimates another three point twenty-two days before the President begins to appreciate the Captain's ingenuity.

"I assure you that the Enterprise will maintain the peace at Headquarters; in fact—"

"Jim," Leonard groans; Spock must inquire after the Doctor's apprehension at a later date. (Leonard is an excellent specimen of a Human; he provides the Vulcan with a plethora of intriguing information on a variety of behavioral patterns.)

"—our first assignment in the new five-year mission will be to seek out and apprehend the lingering Klingon spies in the Federation."

The President makes a noise, which Kirk ignores as he reaches over and pats the man's shoulder reassuringly. "Don't worry, Mr. President, you're in good hands. Right, crew?"

Spock enjoys observing the subsequent exhibit of cohesion and unity. It reminds him that to belong to a purpose is of the utmost importance in a Vulcan's life. The Captain requires a First Officer, this position he is suitable to fill; takes pride in doing so. And the Humans, Jim Kirk and Leonard McCoy, have need of Spock in another capacity; they need his love.

It is a fact that Vulcans mate for life. His mother agreed with him on this subject, advised him, "Love as you will, my son, and love forever." Spock believes, as Jim smiles at him and Leonard leans over to say "Jim'll find a mess of trouble if we don't keep on eye on him, Spock. Gonna need that logic of yours," that he has found two mates of whom his mother would approve. (Yes, these two Humans, such as they are.)

He nods his acquiescence to the Doctor who always finds immense pleasure, Spock comprehends, in having an ally against the great Captain Kirk. (Fascinating.)

Spock calculates the appropriate time and date for their bonding ceremony. In consideration of Leonard's gradual acceptance of their triad, Spock determines that a series of (courting) events will become necessary to further persuade the Doctor into an established relationship.

Thus Spock will help Leonard "keep an eye" on Jim, and Jim shall aid Spock in the task of cementing the third bond. Satisfied with his conclusions, the Vulcan approaches Uhura and Mr. Scott.

"Nyota," he greets her. "I require assistance. Do you understand the Human ritual of… dating?"

"Oh, yes," she assures him. "I'd love to help! Scotty, go get the boys, would you?" When Uhura smiles at Spock, he raises his eyebrow.

Fascinating, indeed.

* * *

_"[…] when the past's an anchor_  
_it just holds you back_  
_when you can't walk away_  
_makes you stay […]_

_you can see what you can be_  
_let go of what you have been_  
_see the world_  
_through a different set of eyes_

_if you can face the future_  
_it sets you free from the past_  
_turn around, turn around_  
_you can move on, move on […]"_

-Conjure One ft. Tiff Lacey – "Face the Music"

_-Fini_

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Love you guys! Thank you for reading. There may be a return to the FH!verse some day; yay! :)


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